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SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



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SEVENTY YEARS OF 
IRISH LIFE 



BEING 

ANECDOTES AND REMINISCENCES 



7 

W. R.'LE FANU 









MACMILLAN AND CO. 

AND LONDON 
1893 

All rights reserved 






Copyright, 1893, 
bt macmillan and CO. 



THE LIBRA&T 
or CONGRESS 

WASHINOTOK 



Xoriijootr ^rfss : 

J, S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith. 

Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 



TO HEE 

WHOSE LOVE AND GOODNESS 

HAVE MADE MY LIFE 
THE HAPPY ONE IT HAS BEEN 

Eo Ps matt 

WITH GRATEFUL HEART 
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 



PREFACE 



It requires no ordinary amount of courage, even in an 
author of established fame, to come before the public 
when he has long passed the age of three score years 
and ten; yet here am I, who never wrote a line for 
publication and never meant to do so, daring to make 
my first attempt in my eight-and-seventieth year. I 
should not have had the courage to venture on such an 
undertaking had I not been urged by literary friends 
(who ought to have known better) to jot down some 
recollections of my earlier days, and to publish some of 
the Irish stories which from time to time in my long 
life I have heard. 

In politics I have never taken any part, and I have 
tried, I hope successfully, to keep clear of them in what 
I have written. 

I trust I have said nothing to hurt the feelings of any 
of my fellow-countrymen, and I leave it to a generous 
public to pardon the many faults and shortcomings of 
my first and only book. 

W. R. LE FANU. 

SUMMERHILL, EnNISKERRY, 

October, 1893. 



CONTENTS 



CHArXER I 

PAGE 

Early days — A royal visit to Ireland in 1820 : Grattan's wit- 
ticism — A maid for a dog — A disciple of Isaak Waltoji 
as preceptor — Sheridan Le Fanu's youthful verses and 
relaxations — A parrot at prayers ; and a monkey with 
the parrot 1 

CHAPTER II 

Lord Edward Fitzgerald's dagger — United Irishmen: the 
apologia of John Sheares — Doctor Dobbin's kind deeds — 
The story of the Ilchester oak — An outlaw sportsman : 
his narrow escape and sad ending 17 

CHAPTER III 

Faction fights : the Reaska wallahs and Coff eys — Paternal 
chastisement — A doctor in livery — I bear the Olive 
branch — Battles of the buryings — Dead men's shoes — 
Fairy Doctors: their patient spoils a coachman's toggery 
— Superstitions about birds \ 33 

CHAPTER IV 

Good will of the peasantry before 1831 — A valentine — A 
justice's bulls — A curious sight indeed — Farms to grow 
fat on — Some cooks — "What the Dean wears on his 
legs" — Blood-thirsty gratitude — Old servants and their 
theories 44 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER V 



PAGE 



The tithe war of 1831 : the troops come to our village — A 
marked man — " Push on ; they are going to kill ye ! " — 
Not his brother's keeper — Boycotting in the thirties — 
None so dead as he looked — Lord Cloncurry's manifesto 

— A fulfilled prophecy 58 

CHAPTER VI 

The pleasures of coaching — I enter at Trinity College, Dublin 

— A miser Fellow: Anecdotes about — Whately, Arch- 
bishop of Dublin, and his legs — The vocative of cat — 
Charles Lever's retort — Courteous to the Bishop . . 72 

CHAPTER VII 

The " Charleys' " life was not a pleasant one — Paddy O'Neill 
and his rhymes — " With my rigatooria" — Too far west 
to wash — On the coast at Kilkee — " Phaudrig Crohoore " 

— The Dublin Magazme 86 

CHAPTER VIII 

Peasant life after the famine of 1847 — An aged goose — Su- 
perstitions and Irish peculiarities — The worship of Baal 

— The Blarney stone — The wren boys — The direful 
" Wurrum " — A remedy for the chin cough, and doctors' 
remedies 106 

CHAPTER IX 

Mitchelstown remembered — A Night on the Galtees — The 
weird horse — Killing, or murder ? — The ballad of " Sha- 
mus O'Brien " — A letter from Samuel Lover . . . 125 

CHAPTER X 

A determined duel — I act the peasant, and am selected for 
the police force — Death of my sister — Sketch of my 
brother's life — Dan O'Connell's '• Illustrious Kinsman " — 
A murderous Grand Jury — A sad reflection . . .141 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER XI 



PAGE 



The power of the people — Sergeant Murphy ; his London 
manners — Pat Costello's humour — I meet Thackeray — 
Paddy Blake's echo — Dan O'Connell's imagination — Sir 
James O'Connell's anecdotes — He is prayed for by his 
herd 157 

CHAPTER XII 

A proselytizing clergyman — Some examples of religious intol- 
erance — An inverse repentance — The true faith — The 
railway mania — Famine of 1846 — Mrs. Norton solves a 
difficulty — The old Beefsteak Club — A pleasant dinner- 
party 170 

CHAPTER XIII 

Smith O'Brien's rebellion — Louis Philippe's interview with 
the Queen, as seen by the Boy Jones — Plain fare and 
pleasant — Married by mistake — A time for everything 
— A pagan altar-piece — Drawing the long-bow — Proof 
against cross-examination — Fooling the English — Lar- 
ceny, or trespass ? 183 

CHAPTER XIV 

Anthony Trollope : his night encounter — A race for life on 
an engine — Railway adventures — I become Commissioner 
of Public Works — Some Irish repartees and ready car- 
drivers — Rail against road — No cause for uneasiness . 204 

CHAPTER XV 

Tory Island : its king, customs, and captive — William Dar- 
gan : his career and achievements — Agricultural and in- 
dustrial experiments — Bianconi, the carman — Sheridan 
Knowles : his absence of mind — Absent-minded gentle- 
men — Legal complications — Judges and barristers — 
Lord Norbury 219 



xii CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XYI 

PAGE 

Irish bulls — Sayings of Sir Boyle Roche — Plutarch's Lives 

— A Grand Jury's decision — Clerical anecdotes and bib- 
lical difficulties — A harmless lunatic — Dangerous recruits 

— Tom Burke — Some memorials to the Board of Works 240 

CHAPTER XVII 

Shooting and fishing — Good snipe grounds — Killarney and 
Powerscourt — My fishing record — Playing a rock — Sal- 
mon flies — Salmon and trout — Grattan's favourites — 
Hooking a bird — Fishing anecdotes — Lord Spencer's ad- 
venture 269 

CHAPTER XVIII 

Getting a reward — Illicit stills — Poteen — Past and present 

— Dress and dwellings — Marriage and language — Mate- 
rial improvement since 1850 290 

CHAPTER XIX 

The science of hypnotism — Early experiments and lessons — 
A drink of cider — I convert Isaac Butt — All wrong — A 
dangerous power 301 



CHAPTER XX 

Catholic Emancipation, 1829 — The tithe war of 1832 — The 
great famine of 1846 — The Fenian Agitation of 1865 — 
France against England — Land-Hunger — Crime and com- 
bination — Last words 311 



SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTER I 

Early days — A royal visit to Ireland in 1821: Grattan's witti- 
cism—A maid for a dog — A disciple of Isaak Walton as 
preceptor — Sheridan Le Fanu's youthful verses and relaxa- 
tions — A parrot at prayers ; and a monkey with the parrot. 

I WAS born on the 24th of February, 1816, at the 
Eoyal Hibernian Military School in the Phoenix 
Park, Dublin ; my father being then chaplain to that 
institution. I was the youngest of three children — 
the eldest was Catherine Francis ; the second, Joseph 
Sheridan, author of " Uncle Silas " and other novels, 
and of " Shamus O'Brien " and other Irish ballads. 

Here the first ten years of my life were spent in 
as happy a home as boy could have. Never can I 
forget our rambles through that lovely park, the 
delight we took in the military reviews, sham fights, 
and races held near the school, not to mention the 
intense interest and awe inspired by the duels occa- 
sionally fought there. The usual time for these hos- 
tile meetings was at or soon after daybreak. I only 
saw one, which from some cause or other took place 



2 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

at a later hour ; four shots were fired, after which a 
reconciliation took place. On more than one such 
occasion my father acted as peacemaker, and found 
that the cause of quarrel was something trivial and 
ridiculous ; except by him, there was seldom any 
interference with these combats. I shall give pres- 
ently an account of one of the last duels in Ireland, a . /V^ . 
fought about twenty 3^ears later. 

At an early age my brother gave promise of the 
powers which he afterwards attained. When be- 
tween five and six years old a favourite amusement 
of his was to draw little pictures, and under each he 
would print some moral which the drawing was 
meant to illustrate. I well remember one which I 
specially admired and looked upon as a masterpiece 
of art, conveying a solemn warning. A balloon was 
high in air ; the two aeronauts had fallen from the 
boat, and were tumbling headlong to the ground ; 
underneath was printed in fine bold Eoman let- 
ters, " See the effects of trying to go to heaven." 
He composed little songs also, ^v hich he very sweetly 
sang, and some old people can still recall his wonder- 
ful acting as a mere boy in our juvenile theatricals. 

One of my earliest recollections is of the rejoicings, 
illuminations, and reviews that took place on the 
accession of George lY. to the throne in 1820, and 
the excitement caused by his visit to Ireland in 1821. 
Royal journeys were not in those days carried out 



A ROYAL VISIT 3 

with the ease and celerity with which they are now 
performed. The king's departure from London, en 
route for Dublin, is thus described in the Annual 
Eegister : — 

" About half-past eleven o'clock his Majesty left 
his palace in Pall Mall on his way to Ireland. His 
Majesty went in his plain dark travelling carriage, 
attended by Lord Graves, as the lord-in-waiting, 
escorted by a party of the 14th Light Dragoons. 
The king proceeded as far as Kingston with his own 
horses, and from thence to Portsmouth with post- 
horses. His Majesty was to embark and dine on 
board the royal j^acht." 

I saw his state entrance into Dublin from the 
balcony of my grandfather's house in Eccles Street, 
through which the procession passed on its way from 
Howth, Avhere the king had landed. His Majesty 
was seated in an open carriage drawn by eight 
splendid horses, and attended by a number of grooms 
and footmen in magnificent liveries. He was in 
military uniform, and constantly took off his hat 
and smiled and bowed gracefully to the people, 
who enthusiastically cheered him. It was told that 
a man in the crowd close to the carriage stretched 
out his hand to the king, saying, " Shake hands, 
your Majesty." The king at once gave him a 
hearty shake by the hand. The man then waved 
his hand, and called out, " Begorra, I'll never wash 



4 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

that hand again ! " The king ended a speech which 
he made to the people from the steps of the Vice- 
regal Lodge in the following words : — " This is one 
of the happiest days of my life. I have long wished 
to visit you; my heart has always been Irish. 
From the day it first beat I have loved Ireland. 
This day has shown me that I am beloved by my 
Irish subjects. Kank, station, honours are nothing ; 
but to feel that I live in the hearts of my Irish 
subjects is to me the most exalted happiness. I 
must once more thank you for your kindness, and 
bid you farewell. Go, and do by me as I shall do 
by you — drink my health in a bumper. I shall 
drink all yours in a bumper of Irish whisky." 
There was a grand review in the Phoenix Park, at 
Avhich I well remember some of the infantry regi- 
ments still wore Avtite knee-breeches and long black 
gaiters, and nearly all of them very tall shakos, 
broad at the top, from which rose long feathers, 
some red and white, some white. After a stay of 
about three wrecks in Ireland, the king embarked 
for England at Dunleary, then little more than a 
fishing village, but now, under its new name " Kings- 
town," which George lY. then gave it, one of the 
most flourishing towns in Ireland. It was eight 
and twenty years before Ireland was again visited 
by an English sovereign. 

The enthusiasm awakened by the king's visit 



EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY 5 

soon subsided, and ere long he was no more popular 
than he had been before. Grattan it was who said 
that " the Irish abused him in every possible shape. 
First, they abused his person, of which he is very 
vain; secondly, they abused his mistress, of Avhom 
he is very fond; and not content with all that, they 
praised his own w4fe." 

It was shortly after the time I have been speak- 
ing of that I met with a rather serious accident, 
owing to my desire to become possessor of a learned 
dog. I was about five years old, and, Avith the 
children's maid, Maria Walsh, who took care of me, 
happened to be in our stable-yard when the coach- 
man of Colonel Spottiswoode, the Commandant of 
the Hibernian School, came into the yard on some 
message. He had w^ith him a handsome red spaniel, 
which knew a great number of tricks, all of which 
the coachman made him perform for me. I was 
astonished and delighted, and said, " Oh, how I 
wish I had a dog like that ! I'd give an^-thing for 
a dog like that." " Then," said the man, '' 3^ou can 
easily have him. Give me Maria, and I'll give you 
the dog." " Oh, I'm so glad ! " I said. " Take her, 
take her, and give me the darling dog." He put 
the dog's chain into my hand, took the girl on his 
arm, and walked with her out of the yard gate. 
No sooner had they disappeared than it repented 
me of what I had done. I burst into floods of tears, 



6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

and shouted, " Come back, come back I Take 3^our 
nasty dog, and give me back my own Maria." 
Getting no answer, I dropped the dog's chain, and 
ran after the pair as hard as I could run ; as I came 
to the gate I tripped and fell. I was stunned, and 
my forehead was cut open on the sharp spud stone. 
The coachman and maid carried me into the kitchen. 
My sister saw them carrying me in, from a window, 
and ran down to see what was the matter. She 
found me with my face covered with blood, ran to 
the drawing-room, and, not wishing to frighten her 
mother, called her father out. " Oh, papa," she 
said, " there's poor little Willie in the kitchen ; and 
I think his eye is hanging down on his cheek ! " I 
wasn't, however, so bad as all that ; but, in addition 
to a bad cut, there was a slight fracture of the 
frontal bone, and there is still a hollow where it 
was broken. I never tried to part with Maria again. 
She did not marry the coachman. What became of 
him I know not; but she never left me till five 
and fifty years after, when she died in my house at 
the age of seventy-five. She was one of the girls 
brought up at the Hibernian Military School, where 
there were then two hundred soldiers' daughters, 
as Avell as four hundred boys; now the institution 
is exclusively for boys. Most of these boys become 
soldiers; their uniform, their drill, their band, as 
well as the recollection of what their fathers are, or 



MV PRECEPTOR 7 

were, makes them long for a military career. IS'ot 
the least pretty and interesting part of a review in 
the Phoenix Park, on the Queen's Birthday, is to see 
these little fellows march past ; and how well they 
march past, led on by their band playing the 
" British Grenadiers ! " From early associations it 
is to me a very touching sight. 

In the year 1826, my father having been appointed 
Dean of Emly and Rector of Abington, we left Dub- 
lin to live at Abington, in the county of Limerick. 
Here our education, except in French and English, 
which our father taught us, was entrusted to a pri- 
vate tutor, an elderly clergyman, Stinson by name, 
who let us learn just as much, or rather as little, as 
we pleased. For several hours every day this old 
gentleman sat with us in the schoolroom, when he 
was supposed to be engaged in teaching us classic 
lore, and invigorating our young minds by science ; 
but being an enthusiastic disciple of old Isaak, he in 
reality spent the whole, or nearly the whole, time in 
tying flies for trout or salmon and in arranging his 
Ashing gear, which he kept in a drawer before him. 
Soon after he had come to us, he had wisely taken 
the precaution of making us learn by heart several 
passages from Greek and Latin authors ; and when- 
ever our father's step was heard to approach the 
schoolroom, the flies were niml^ly tlirown into the 
drawer, and the old gentleman in his tremulous 



8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

and nasal voice, would say, "Now, Joseph, repeat 
that ode of Horace," or " William, go on with that 
dialogue of Lucian." These passages we never for- 
got, and though more than sixty years have passed, 
I can repeat as glibly as then the dialogue beginning, 
*n Tvarep ola ireirovda^ and others. As soon as our 
father's step was heard to recede, " That will do," 
said our preceptor; the drawer Avas reopened, and 
he at once returned, with renewed vigour, to his pis- 
catory preparations, and we to our games. Fortu- 
nately my father's library was a large and good one ; 
there my brother spent much of his time in poring 
over many a quaint and curious volume. As for 
me, under the guidance and instructions of our 
worthy tutor, I took too ardently to fishing to care 
much for anything else. I still profit by those 
early lessons. I can to-day tie a trout or salmon 
fly as well as most men. 

The appearance of our venerable preceptor was 
peculiar. His face was red, his hair snow-white ; he 
wore, twice-folded round his neck (as the fashion 
then was), a very high white cravat ; his body was 
enclosed in a bottle-green frock coat, the skirts of 
which were unusually long; a pair of black knee- 
breeches and grey stockings completed his costume. 
In addition to his other accomplishments he Avas a 
great performer on the Irish bag])ipes, and often 
after lessons would cheer us with an Irish air, and 



MV PRECEPTOR 9 

sometimes with an Irish song. But, alas ! how fleet- 
ing are all earthly joys ; our happy idle days with 
our reverend friend were soon to cease. My father 
found that we were learning absolutely nothing, 
and discovered, moreover, some serious delinquen- 
cies on the part of the old gentleman, who was sum- 
marily dismissed in disgrace. For some years we 
did not know what had become of him, and then 
heard that he had become a violent Repealer, and 
sometimes marched, playing party tunes on the 
pipes, at the head of O'Connell's processions. The 
Eepealers were of course delighted to have a Protes- 
tant clergyman, no matter how disreputable, in their 
ranks. 

In his old age our quondam tutor led, I fear, a 
far from reputable life in Dublin. I never saw him 
but once again. It was many years after he had 
left us; and oh, what a falling off was there! I 
beheld my friend, whom I had known as the prince 
of anglers for trout and salmon, sitting, meanly 
clad, on the bank of the river Liffey, close to 
Dublin, engaged in the ignoble sport of bobbing for 
eels. 

When scarcely fifteen years of age my brother 
Joseph had written many pieces of poetry, which 
showed a depth of imagination and feeling unusual 
in a bov at that ae-e. The following: are extracts 
from some of them I have preserved, and which, 1 



10 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

think, show remarkable talent for a boy of fifteen 
years of age : — 

" Oh, lovely moon, so bright and so serene, 

Rolling thy silver disc so silently, 
Full many an ardent lover's eye, I ween. 

Rests on thy waning crescent pensively ; 
And many an aged eye is fixed on thee 

That seeks to read the hidden things of fate ; 
And many a captive pining to be free. 

Welcomes thy lustre through his prison gate, 
And feels while in thy beam not quite so desolate. 

" There is an hour of sadness all have known, 

That weighs upon the heart we scarce know why ; 
We feel unfriended, cheerless and alone, 

We ask no other pleasure but to sigh. 
And muse on days of happiness gone by : 

A painful lonely pleasure which imparts 
A calm regret, a deep serenity. 

That soothes the rankling of misfortune's darts. 
And kindly lends a solace even to broken hearts." 

INTRODUCTION TO O'DONOGHUE — AN UNFIN- 
ISHED POEM 

" Muse of green Erin ! break thine icy slumbers, 

Wake yet again thy wreathed lyre ; 
Burst forth once more to strike thy tuneful numbers. 

Kindle again thy long extinguished fire. 
Long hast thou slept amid thy country's sorrow, 

Darkly thou set'st amid thy country's woes ; 
Dawn yet again to cheer a gloomy morrow. 

Break with the spell of song thy long repose. 



EARLY VERSES OF MY BROTHER n 

Why should I bid thee, Muse of Enn, waken ? 

Why should I bid thee strike thy harp once more ? 
Better to leave thee silent and forsaken, 

Than wake thee but thy glory to deplore. 
How could I bid thee tell of Tara's towers, 

Where once thy sceptred princes sat in state, 
Where rose thy music at the festal hours 

Through the proud halls where listening thousands sat V 
Fallen thy fair castles, past thy princes' glory ; 

Thy tuneful bards were banished or were slain ; 
Some rest in glory, in their death-beds gory. 

And some have lived to feel a foeman's chain. 
Yet for the sake of thine unhappy nation. 

Yet for the sake of Freedom's spirit dead, 
Teach thy wild harp to thrill with indignation, 

Peal a deep requiem on her sons that bled. 
Yes, like the farewell breath of evening sighing, 

Sweep thy cold hand its silent strings along, 
Flash like the lamp beside the hero dying, 

Then hushed for ever be thy plaintive song." 

From the Same 

" I saw my home again at that soft hour 
When evening weeps for the departed day. 
And sheds her pensive tears on tree and flower. 
And sighs her sorrow through the brooklet's spray ; 
When the sweet thrash pours forth his vesper lay. 
When slumber closes every graceful bell. 
And the declining sun's last lingering ray 
Seems to the fading hills to bid farewell; 
And as I looked on this fair scene the big tears fell." 

He let no one see these poems but his mother, his 
sister, and myself. Whether he feared his father's 



12 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

criticism I cannot tell, but he never let him see 
them ; still, he certainly had no great dread of my 
father, for whenever he had incurred liis displeasure 
he would at once disarm him by some witty saying. 
One thing that much distressed the Dean was his 
being habitually late for prayers. One morning 
breakfast was nearly over and he had not appeared ; 
and when he at last came in it was near ten 
o'clock. My father, holding his watch in his hand, 
said in his severest voice, " I ask you, Joseph, 
I ask you seriously, is this right ? " " No, sir," 
said Joe, glancing at the watch ; " I'm sure it must 
be fast." 

Practical jokes, I am glad to say, are seldom prac- 
tised now, but in my early days they were much in 
vogue. Here is one my brother played on me : — I 
was in Dublin, and had a long letter from my father, 
who was at home at Abington, giving me several 
commissions. In a postscript, he said, " Send me 
immediately ' Dodd's Holy Curate.' If Curry has 
not got it you will be sure to get it at some other 
booksellers' ; but be sure to send it, if possible, by 
return of post." Curry had it not ; in vain I sought 
it at other booksellers', so I wrote to my father to 
say that it was not to be had in Dublin, and that 
Curry did not know the book, but had written to his 
publishers in London to send it direct to Abington. 
By return of post I had a letter from my father 



PRACTICAL JOKES 13 

saying he was utterly at a loss to know what I 
meant, that he had never asked me to get him 
" Dodd's Holy Curate," and had never known of the 
existence of such a book. There is, in fact, no such 
book. What had happened was this : my father had 
gone out of the library for a few minutes, and had 
left his letter to me, which he had just finished, open 
on his writing-table ; Joseph had gone into the 
library and took the opportunity of my father's 
absence to add the postscript, exactly imitating his 
writing, and on his return my father duly folded 
the letter and sent it to the post without having 
perceived my brother's addition to it. 

Another, not so harmless — but boys are mis- 
chievous — he played on an elderly woman, whom 
he met near Dublin, when he was staying on a visit 
with some friends. He had never seen the woman 
before, and never saw her after ; but she looked at 
him as if she recognized him, stopped and stood 
before him looking earnestly at his face, when the 
following dialogue ensued : — 

^Yoman. " Oh, then, Masther Kichard, is that 
yourself ? " 

Joseph. " Of course it is myself. Who else should 
I be?" 

^Voman. '' Ah, then, Masther Eichard, it's proud 
I am to see you. I hardly knew you at first, you're 
grown so much. Ah, but it's long since I seen any 



14 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

of the family. And bow is the mistress and all the 
family ? " 

Joseph. "All quite well, thank you. But why 
don't you ever come to see us ? " 

Woman. " Ah, Masther Kichard, don't you know 
I daren't face the house since that affair ? " 

Joseph. "Don't you know that is all forgotten 
and forgiven long ago ? My mother and all would 
be delighted to see you." 

Womxin. " If I knew that, I'd have been up to the 
house long ago." 

Joseph. " I'll tell you what to do — come up on 
Sunday to dinner with the servants. You know the 
hour ; and you will be surprised at the welcome you 
will get." 

Woman. "Well, please God, I will, Masther 
Eichard. Good-bye, Masther Eichard, and God 
bless you." 

What sort of welcome the old lady (she had very 
probably been dismissed for stealing silver spoons) 
received on her arrival on the following Sunday has 
not transpired ; but I dare say she was " surprised " 
at it. 

One morning, about this time, our family prayers 
were interrupted in a comical way. A Captain and 
Mrs. Druid were staying with us for a few weeks. 
Having no child, their affections centred in a grey 
parrot, which they dearly loved, and on whose 



PARROT AND MONKEY 15 

education most of their time was spent. And truly 
he was a wonderful bird. Amongst his other 
accomplishments, he sang " God save the King " in 
perfect tune ; but he never could get beyond " happy 
and glorious." The last word seemed so to tickle his 
fancy, that he couldn't finish it, but went on singing 
"happy and glori-ori-ori-ori-ori-ori." He would also 
say, " Have you dined ? Yes, sir. And on what ? 
Koast beef, sir." (3r, "As-tu dejeune, mon petit 
Coco? Oui, monsieur. Et de quoi? Macaroni, 
monsieur." 

For fear of accidents, he was not allowed into 
the breakfast-room till after prayers. One morning, 
however, by some mischance, he was there; but 
behaved w^ith becoming decorum until prayers were 
nearly over. My father had got to the middle of 
the Lord's Prayer, when, in a loud voice, Poll called 
out, " As many as are of that opinion will say ' aye ; ' 
as many as are of the contrary opinion will say 
'no.' The 'ayes' have it." I need hardly say, 
prayers were finished under difficulties. 

This reminds me of a story which I heard, or read, 
not long since, of a gentleman who had a monkey 
and a parrot, to both of which he was much at- 
tached ; but such was the enmit}^ of the monkey to 
the parrot, that he never ventured to leave them by 
themselves. One morning he had just come down 
to breakfast, when he suddenly remembered that he 



i6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

had left them together in his bedroom. Upstairs he 
ran, three steps at a time, and into his room, where, 
to his horror, he saw the monkey seated by the fire 
with a large heap of feathers before him. " Oh, you 
villain," he called out, " you have killed the parrot ! " 
At the same moment he heard a slight rustling 
behind him, and, on turning round, saw the poor 
bird coming from under the bed with scarcely a 
feather except a few on his head, which he held on 
one side and said, " AVe've been having a devil of 
a time of it ! " 



LORD EDWARD'S DAGGER 17 



CHAPTEK II 

Lord Edward Fitzgerald's dagger — United Irishmen: the Apo- 
logia of John Sheares — Doctor Dobbin's kind deeds — The 
story of the llchester oak — An outlaw sportsman: his nar- 
row escape and sad ending. 

To return to my brother : — the tone of those early 
verses, from which I have given quotations, as well 
as that of some of his later ballads, was due to his 
mother, who, as a girl, had been in her heart more 
or less a rebel. She told him of the hard fate which, 
in '98, befel many of those whom she knew and 
admired. She told him much of Lord Edward Fitz- 
gerald and the fight he made for his life, and showed 
him the dagger with which he fought for it. It is 
many years now since she gave me that dagger, and 
with it the following written account of how it came 
into her possession : — 

"I was almost a child when I possessed myself of the dagger 
with which Lord Edward Fitzgerald had defended himself so 
desperately at the time of his arrest. The circumstances con- 
nected with it are these : — Mrs. Swan, wife of Major Swan 
(Deputy Town i\Lijor), was a relative of my mother. Our 
family constantly visited at her house in North Great George's 
Street. My mother often took my younger sister and me there. 



i8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

I often heard ]\Iajor Swan describe the dreadful struggle in 
which he had himself received a severe wound from the dagger 
which he had succeeded in wresting from Lord Edward, and 
which he took a pleasure in showing as a trophy. The dreadful 
conflict is described in the Annual Register, and in the journals 
of the day. The death- wound which Lord Edward received, 
and the death of Captain Ryan, are known to every one. The 
character of Lord Edward, the position which he held, and his 
tragical death, the domestic happiness which he had enjoyed, 
and the affection in which he held those near to him, I need 
not describe. When I saw the dagger in the hands w^ith which 
Lord Edward had striven in the last fatal struggle for life or 
death, I felt that it was not rightfully his who held it, and 
wished it were in other hands. Wishes soon changed into 
plans, and I determined, if possible, to get it. I knew the spot 
in the front drawing-room where it w^as laid, and one evening, 
after tea, when Major Swan and his guests were engaged in 
conversation in the back drawing-room, I walked into the front 
drawing-room, to the spot where it was. I seized it and thrust 
it into my bosom, inside my stays. I returned to the company, 
where I had to sit for an hour, and then drove home a distance 
of three miles. As soon as we left the house I told my sister, 
who was beside me, what I had done. As soon as we got 
home, I rushed up to the room which my sister and I occupied, 
and, having secured the door, 1 opened one of the seams in the 
feather bed, took out the dagger, and plunged it among the 
feathers. For upwards of twelve years I lay every night upon 
the bed which contained my treasure. When I left home I 
took it with me, and it has been my companion in all the vicis- 
situdes of life. When he missed it Major Swan was greatly 
incensed, and not without apprehensions that it had been taken 
to inflict a deadly revenge upon him. Had he taken harsh 
measures against the servants, whom he might have suspected, 
I had resolved to confess tliat I had taken it ; but after a time 
his anger and uneasiness subsided. I have often seen and 



UNITED IRISHMEN 



19 



heard this dagger described as a most extraordinary weapon, 
and have been ready to laugh when I heard it so described. 
Moore mentions it in his life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, as 
being in the possession of some other family. He is quite mis- 
taken. This is the very dagger, which had not been many 
months in Major Swan's hands, when it became mine in the 
manner above described. 

"Emma L. Le Fanu. 
"April, 1847." 

It will be seen from this what an enthusiastic 
admirer of Lord Edward my mother was. There 
were two other United Irishmen whom she knew 
well; they were the brothers Sheares, whose base 
and cruel betrayal by another United Irishman, who 
was their trusted friend and companion, caused such 
intense indignation amongst all who knew them. 
They were barristers and men of good position and 
means, sons of Henry Sheares, M.P., a banker in 
Cork, and were friends of my mother's father, the 
Kev. Doctor Dobbin. A short time before the cap- 
ture of Lord Edward Fitzgerald they, with twelve 
other leaders of the insurrectionary movement, were 
arrested. The two brothers were tried for high 
treason and convicted, and were executed on the 
14th of July, 1Y99. Amongst other letters of theirs 
I have two, which I give below, written, the one just 
before his sentence, the other the night before his 
execution, by John, the younger of the brothers. 
The first is to a Mr. Flemyng, a relative of my 
grandfather, the second to my grandfather himself. 



20 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

"July 12, '98. 
"" Dear Harry, 

" As I well know what will be my fate to-day, I enclose you 
a letter for my dear sister, which I request you will give her as 
soon after my execution as you shall think prudent. To such 
dear friends as you and William are, I know it is unnecessary 
to recommend my afflicted family, and particularly my ever- 
revered mother. I will require the performance of Doctor 
Dobbin's kind promise as soon as I feel myseK fit to receive 
him. I did intend giving into your hands a short defence 
relative to some points in which I know I shall be vilely calum- 
niated. But I have not had time, as I prepared every syllable 
of our defence, and wrote letters, etc., etc. One of you ought 
to be present at my execution, yet this is too much to ask. No, 
I nmst endure misrepresentation — the hearts of my friends will 
justify me. Farewell, my ever kind, my ever valued friends. 
I am called to court. Farewell for ever. 

" Yours affectionately, 

"John Sheares." 

" To the Rev. Doctor Dobbin, D.D. 

" Newgate, 12 o'clock at night, 

"July 13th, 1798. 
"My dear Sir, 

" As to-morrow is appointed for the execution of my brother 
and me, I shall trouble you with a few words on the subject of 
the writing produced on my trial, importing to be a proclama- 
tion. The first observation I have to make is that a consider- 
able part of that scrolled production was suppressed on my 
trial, from what motive or whether by accident I will not say. 
Certain it is that the part which has not appeared must have in 
a great measure shown what the true motives were that caused 
that writing, if it had been produced. To avoid a posthumous 
calumny, in addition to the many and gross misrepresentations 
of my principles, moral and political, I shall state, with the 
most sacred regard to truth, what my chief objects were in 



A LETTER FROM NEWGATE 21 

writing", or rather in attempting to write it, for it is but a 
wretched patched and garbled attempt. It was contained in 
a sheet of paper, and in one or two pieces more which are not 
forthcoming. 

"The sheet alone has been produced. It is written in very 
violent revolutionary language, because, as it in the outset 
imports, after a revolution had taken place could it alone be 
published. And the occurrence of such an event I thought 
every day more probable. The first sentence that has produced 
much misrepresentation is that which mentions that some of 
the most obnoxious members of Government have already paid 
the forfeit of their lives. I cannot state the w^ords exactly. 
From this it is concluded that I countenanced assassination. 
Gracious God ! but I shall simply answer that this sentence 
was merely supposititous, and founded on the common remark, 
oftenest made by those who least wished it verified, that if the 
people had ever recourse to force and succeeded, there were 
certain persons whom they would most probably destroy. The 
next most obnoxious sentence, more obnoxious to my feelings, 
because calculated to misrepresent the real sentiments of my 
soul, is that which recommends to give no quarter to those who 
fought against their native country, unless they sliould speedily 
join the standard of freedom* With this latter part of the sen- 
tence I found two faults, and therefore draw my pen over it 
as above. The first fault was that the word 'speedily' was 
too vague, and might encourage the sanguinary immediately 
to deny quarter, which is the very thing the sentence was 
intended to discountenance and prevent. The next fault was 
that it required more than ever should be required of any 
human being, namely, to fight against his opinions from fear. 
The sentence w^as intended to prevent the horrid measure of 
refusing quarter from being adopted by appearing to acquiesce 

* In the original a line is drawn with the pen through these 
words. 



22 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

in it at some future period, when the inhuman thirst for it 
should no longer exist. But as the sentence now stands, in 
two parts of the sheet, it would appear as if it sought to enforce 
the measure I most abhor. To prevent it was in fact one of 
my leading motives for writing the address. But I had also 
three others, that are expressed in the pieces of paper which 
made part of the writing, but which, though laid in the same 
desk, have disappeared. The three objects alluded to are 
these: the protection of property, preventing the indulgence 
of revenge, and the strict forbiddance of injuring any person 
for religious differences. I know it is said that I call on the 
people to take vengeance on their oppressors, and enumerate 
some of their oppressions; but this is the very thing that 
enables me to describe the difference between private revenge 
and j^ublic vengeance. The former has only a retrospective and 
malignant propensity, while the latter, though animated by a 
recollection of the past, has ever, and only, in view the removal 
of the evil and of its possibility of recurrence. Thus the assas- 
sin revenges himself, but the patriot avenges his country of 
its enemies by overthrowing them and depriving them of all 
power again to hurt it. In the struggle some of their lives 
may fall, but these are not the objects of his vengeance. In 
short, the Deity is said, in this sense, to be an avenging Being, 
but who deems Him revengeful ? 

" Adieu, my dear sir. Let me entreat you, whenever an 
opportunity shall occur, that you Avill justify my principles on 
these points. 

" Believe me, 

" Your sincere friend, 

"John She ares." 

The Doctor Dobbin referred to in the first of 
these letters was my grandfather. He had been a 
Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, but he resigned 



DOCTOR DOBBIN 



23 



his fellowship in order to take to him a wife (the 
fellows had then to be celibate). The wife he took 
was Miss Catherine Coote, of Ash Hill Towers, in 
the county of Limerick, aunt of the late Sir Charles 
Coote. She died before I was born, but hhn I can 
remember well — a very small man in a full-bottomed 
wig, knee-breeches, black silk stockings, buckles in 
his shoes, and in his hand a gold- headed cane. He 
was long remembered in Dublin and its neighbour- 
hood for bis goodness and kindness to the poor, and 
many stories were told of his simplicity and charity. 
Once a man was begging at his carriage window ; 
he had no change about him, so he handed the man 
a guinea, and said to him, ^' Go, my poor man, get 
me change of that, and I will give you a shilling." 
I need hardly say he saw that beggar's face no more. 
Another day his Avife, on coming home, found him 
in the hall with his hands behind his back. She 
soon perceived that he was hiding something from 
her, and insisted on knowing what it w^as. He 
timidly brought out from behind his back a leg of 
mutton which had been roasting in the kitchen, and 
which he had surreptitiously removed from the spit 
to give to a poor woman who was Avaiting at the 
door. 

In our earlier days at Abington our favourite 
haunts for nutting and bird-nesting Avere the Glen 
and the Old Deer Park of Cappercullen, Avhich 



24 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

now form part of Glenstal, Sir Charles Earrington's 
picturesque demesne. In the Old Park there stood, 
and still stands, the Ilchester oak, one great bough 
of which stretched just to the edge of the drive, 
and there came nearly to the ground. Many a time 
Ave sat on this great bough, as many a boy and girl 
had done before, and by touching our feet to the 
ground, made it spring up and down ; it was a 
perfect spring-board. I did not then know how 
the old tree had got its name, but many years after- 
wards I was told this story by my father-in-law. 
Sir Matthew Barrington : — 

The Ilchester Oak 

'Tis well nigh a hundred years, perhaps more, 
since Cappercullen House was tenanted by a widower 
named Grady — not rich, but of an old and honoured 
family. He had one only daughter, Mary, the 
prettiest and merriest little maid in all that country- 
side, one of whose favourite sports was riding on 
this old oak bough. Prettier and prettier year by 
year the maiden grew, till, when just seventeen, 
at her first dance at a Limerick race ball, she was 
declared by all to be the loveliest and the brightest 
girl in the county, which was then, and I believe still 
is, famous for the beauty of its lasses. It was there 
she met young Lord Stavordale, eldest son of Lord 
Ilchester, who had just joined his regiment, and 



THE I LC HESTER OAK 25 

whose admiration she at once attracted. After- 
wards they often met, for he lost no opportunity of 
seeing her as often as he coukl. He would ride out 
to Cappercullen, and join her in her walks with her 
father through the Glen and the Old Deer Park. 
Soon he loved her with all the ardour of first love. 
Grady saw that his daughter liked the bright and 
handsome young fellow, but knowing that Lord 
Ilchester would be sure to object to his eldest son 
marrying the daughter of a poor Irishman, and 
fearing that his daughter's affections should become 
too deeply engaged, he wrote to Lord Ilchester to 
the following eflPect : — " My Lord, I hope you will 
pardon the liberty I take in writing to you about 
your son. My only excuse is the great interest I 
take in the young man, and my fear that if he 
remains in Limerick he is likely to be involved in 
an unpleasant scrape. I would, therefore, most 
strongly advise you to have him moved elsewhere 
as soon as possible, and I trust to your honour that 
you will not tell him that I have written to you, or 
mention to him the subject of this letter." He re- 
ceived a reply full of gratitude in which Lord 
Ilchester said that he regretted that he might 
probably never have an opportunity of thanking 
him in person for his kindness, but had requested 
his old friend, Colonel Prendergast, who was likely 
ere long to be in the south of Ireland, to call upon 



26 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

him to convey to him his thanks more fully than 
he could do by letter. Young Stavordale imme- 
diately disappeared from Limerick. The poor girl 
heard no more of him. She tried to be bright and 
cheery with her father, but he saw that her spirits 
sank, and that day by day she grew paler and more 
sad. Thus things went on for some months, when, 
late in autumn, a letter came from Colonel Prender- 
gast to say that he expected to be in Limerick on 
the following Friday, and would, at Lord Ilchester's 
request, call to see Mr. Grady on Saturday, if he 
would receive him. Grady wrote to say he would 
be delighted to see him, and hoped he would be 
able to arrange to stay for some little time at Cap- 
percullen. The colonel arrived accordingly, and it 
was soon settled that he would stay for a Aveek. 
At once he took a fancy to the girl, and many a 
walk they had together, and every day he was 
more charmed by her pale but lovely face, her gentle 
manners, and her pretty ways. The week was soon 
over, and the morning of his departure had arrived. 
Before leaving, he asked his host whether he could 
allow him to have a few words with him in private. 
When they were alone — 

"I hope," he said, "you will forgive me for 
speaking to you about your daughter. I have been 
closely observing her, and, though you do not seem 
to see it, I greatly fear she is far from strong. I 



THE ILC HESTER OAK 27 

dread the winter here for her, and I venture to 
urge you strongly to take her to a warmer climate 
for a time." 

"I am greatly obliged for the interest you take 
in my girl," said Grady ; " but I am glad to say 
you are quite mistaken as to her health. I am 
convinced that there is nothing serious the matter 
with her, and trust she will very soon be as well 
as ever." 

"I am afraid you are deceived," said the other. 
" She is so pale, and at times so depressed and sad, 
that I fear she is more seriously ill than you suppose." 

" I see," said Grady. " I may as well tell you, 
in the strictest confidence, what is really the matter 
with her; but you must promise never to let Lord 
Ilchester know what I now tell you. It was about 
her that young Stavordale was making a fool of 
himself; it is about him that she is depressed, but 
as she has never heard of or from him since he left, 
she will very soon get over it." 

Colonel Prendergast at once said, "Mj^ dear sir, 
you must really allow me to tell Lord Ilchester. 
I am certain if he knew what a charming girl, in 
every way, your daughter is, he would be only too 
glad that she should be his son's wife." 

" ]N"o," said Grady ; " you must never tell him. 
I know he would never consent to that." 

''But I know he would," said the other, ''for I 



28 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

am Lord Ilchester, and shall be proud to have such 
a wife for my son." 

So they were wed, and many happy years they 
spent together. Long years have passed, and they 
are dead and gone ; but the old Ilchester oak still 
stands in Cappercullen Park to remind us of them ; 
and from this marriage are descended the present 
Earl of Ilchester and the Marquis of Lansdowne. 

I give tlie story as it was told to me. I cannot 
vouch for the accuracy of all the details, but the 
main facts I believe to be perfectly true. Some 
years ago I told it to Miss Jephson, now Mrs. Boyle, 
and from it she took the plot of her charming novel, 
" An April Day." 

Soon after Ave went to Abington there was, in 
our neighbourhood, a famous outlaw named Kirby, 
Avho was '^ on his keeping ; " that is, in hiding from 
the police. He had been engaged in any number 
of agrarian outrages, amongst them the shooting 
of a landlord near ^N'enagh. The Government had 
offered a large reward for hi*s capture, and the 
magistrates and police in the district were doing all 
in their power to take him. In his early days he 
had been passionately fond of races, hunts, and 
sports of every sort ; and even now, when a price 
was set on his head, he could, sometimes, not resist 
the temptation of going to a hunt or coursing match. 



A FAMOUS OUTLAW 29 

At some of these he narrowly escaped capture. Our 
friend and neighbour, Mr. Coote, who was a magis- 
trate as well as a clergyman, on coming home from 
a coursing match, said to one of his men, "Who 
was that fine-looking fellow that Avas so active at 
the match ? " " It's well for him," said the man, 
" that your honour didn't know him. That was 
Kirby." 

Perhaps the narrowest escape Kirby had was one 
that also happened very near us. His mother, whom 
he rarely ventured to visit, lived in a one-roomed 
cottage about a mile from us, with her only other 
child, a daughter. One Sunday Kirby arrived, and, 
after much pressure from his mother, whom he had 
not seen for a long time, he consented to stay with 
her till the next day. Meantime an informer, hoping 
to secure the reward, w^ent into Limerick and told 
Major Yokes that Kirby was almost certain to be at 
his mother's that night. Yokes held a position 
under Government analogous to that now held by a 
stipendiary magistrate. He was the most active 
magistrate in the south, and had detected more 
crime and brought more offenders to justice than 
any man in Ireland ; and knowing how much it 
would add to his fame if he could arrest Kirby, 
he had often before searched the Widow Kirby's 
house for him, but never found any one there but 
herself and her daughter. 



30 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

On this Sunday evening Kirby's sister, most for- 
tunately for the outlaw, had gone to a wake in the 
neighbourhood, and stayed out all night. The old 
woman had gone to bed, and Kirby was sitting by 
the fire, his pistols on the table beside him. For 
some 3"ears he had seldom spent a night in the 
house. When he did so, he sat, as he now was 
sitting, by the turf fire, where the slightest sound 
was sure to awake him. His mother had not long 
been in bed when he heard the sound of a horse and 
car approaching the house. He sprang to his feet 
and seizing the pistols, said to his mother — 

" At any rate I'll have the life of one of them 
before I'm taken." 

" Whisht, you fool ! " said his mother. " Here, 
be quick ! " put on Mary's cap, take your pistols with 
you. Jump into bed, turn your face to the wall, and 
lave the rest to me." 

He Avas scarcely in bed when there was a loud 
knocking at the door, which his mother, having lit 
a rush, opened as quickly as possible. 

In came Major Yokes, accompanied by two 
constables, who had driven from Limerick with him. 
" Where is your son ? " said Yokes. 

" Plaze God, he's far enough from ye. It's wel- 
come ye are this night," she said. " And thanks 
be to the Lord it wasn't yestherday ye came; for 
it's me and Mary there that strove to make him 



A FAMOUS OUTLAW 3I 

stop the night wid us; but thank God he was 
af eared." 

They searched the house, but did not like to 
disturb the young girl in bed, and finding nothing, 
went, sadly disappointed, back to Limerick. The 
news of Kirby's escape soon spread through the 
country. Yokes was much chaffed, but Kirby never 
slept another night in his mother's house. 

It w^as some months after this that the wife of a 
fanner who lived near Doon called one mornino- 

o 

and asked to see our neighbour, Mr. Coote. When 
she came into his study, she said — 

'' Your reverence, could they do anything to 
Kirby if he was dead ? " 

"How could they, my good w^oman. What do 
you mean ? " 

"It's what I was af eared, your reverence, that 
they might send his body to the prison to be dis- 
sected by the doctors." 

Mr. Coote, whom she thoroughly trusted, assured 
her that nothing of the kind could happen. 

" Then," said she, " come with me and I'll show^ 
him to you dead." 

He went to her house with her, and there he 
saw, lying dead on the bed, the fine young fellow 
whom he had, not long before, seen at the coursing 
match. 

" When and how did he die ? " he asked. 



32 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

" Last night," they said, " he was stopping with 
us, and when he heard steps coming towards the 
house, thinking it might be the peelers, he ran out 
through the back-door, with his pistol in his hand, 
into the little wood. AYe heard a shot after he 
went, but we didn't much mind it at the time ; but 
this morning we found him lying dead in the wood, 
with his foot caught in the briar that tripped him." 

In his fall the pistol must have gone off. He was 
shot tlirough the heart. I do not recollect a larger 
funeral than his. 



FACTION FIGHTS 33 



CHAPTER III 

Faction lights : tlie Reaslvawallalis and Coffeys — Paternal clias- 
tisement — A doctor in livery — I bear the Olive branch — 
Battles of the buryings — Dead men's shoes — Fairy Doctors : 
their patient spoils a coachman's toggery — Superstitions 
about birds. 

When we went to the county of Limerick there 
were many factions there — the Shanavests and 
Caravats, the Coffeys and the ReaskawaHahs, the 
Three Years Old and Four Years Old. All these 
are now extinct except the last named, who still 
have a smouldering existence, in the neighbourhood 
of Emly, which occasionally flares up into a little 
blaze; but the glorious fights of other days are 
gone. 

The factions nearest to us were the Coffeys and 
the ReaskawaHahs, the latter so called from the 
name of a townland near Doon, where its chieftains 
had lived for generations. In our time its leader 
was John Ryan, generally called " Shawn Lucash " 
{i.e. John, the son of Luke), a powerful man who 
had led his men in many a hard-fought fight ; while 
one Coffey of Viewport was chief of the Coffeys. 
The origin of their feud was, as in most other cases, 



34 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

lost in antiquity. The members of opposite factions, 
who happened to dwell near each other, lived peace- 
ably together, except on the occasions when they 
met expressly for a fight. Fairs were the usual 
battlefields, though at times a special hour and place 
was fixed for a battle. I recollect one that was 
fought at Annagh Bog, near us, when the Coffeys 
Avere the victors ; a few were killed and many on 
both sides dangerously wounded. The old story, 
often told, that the row began by one man taking 
off his coat and trailing it behind him, saying "Who 
will dare to tread on that?" is a myth. I have seen 
many a faction fight, every one of which began in 
the same way, which was thus: one man "wheeled," 
as they called it, for his party; that is, he marched 
up and down, flourishing his blackthorn, and shout- 
ing the battle-cry of his faction, "Here is Coffe}^ 
aboo against Reaska wallahs ; here is Coffey aboo — 
who dar strike a Coffey ? " "I dar," shouted one 
of the other party ; " here's Reaskawallah aboo," 
at the same instant making a whack with his shille- 
lagh at his opponent's head. In an instant hundreds 
of sticks were up, hundreds of heads were broken. 
In vain the parish priest and his curate ride through 
the crowd, striking right and left with their whips; 
in vain a few policemen try to quell the riot ; on it 
goes till one or other of the factions is beaten and 
flies. 



A FATHER'S CHASTISEMENT 35 

Just after one of these fights at the fair of 
Abington, which I witnessed from the opposite 
banlv of the river, I saw an elderly man running 
after a young fellow of two or three and twenty, 
every time he got near striking him on the head 
with a heavy blackthorn, and at every blow setting 
the blood streaming from his head. At last the 
youth got beyond his reach. "Wh}^," said I to a 
man standing near me, ''does that young felloAV 
let the old man beat him in that savage way?" 
"Ah, sure, your honour," said he, "that's only his 
father that is chastising him for fighting." 

The members of the Coffey faction were all men 
of that name, or their relatives and connections ; 
the Eeaska wallahs were nearly all Eyans, which is 
the most common name in that part of the county; 
so common that to distinguish one from another 
nearly every Ryan had a nickname, generally a 
patronymic, as Shawn Lucasli, already mentioned. 
Another of the same faction was Denis Ryan, of 
Cuppannuke, always called "Donagh Shawn Heige" 
(Denis, son of John Timothy), his father being 
" Shawn Heige " (John the son of Timothy). There 
was also one Tom Ryan, whose son was Tom Tom, 
his son again Tommy Tom Tom, while Tommy Tom 
Tom's son was Tommy Tom Tom's Tommy. When 
not a patronymic the name had reference to some 
personal peculiarity, such as " Shamus na Cussa" 



36 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

(Jim of the Log), " Shawn Lauder " (Strong John), 
or " Leum a Kinka " (Bill of the dance). 

In those days doctors and dispensaries were few 
and far between, so the wounded generally came 
for treatment to our coachman, an amateur surgeon, 
who had been an officer's servant in the Peninsular 
War. His method was simple, somewhat painful, 
and supposed by the sufferers to be highly efficacious. 
He clipped the hair from about the wound, poured 
in turpentine mixed with whisky — this, of course, 
caused a yell — stitched the cut if a severe one, 
plastered it slightly, and then sent his ]")atient home, 
equally amazed at his skill and charmed with his 
kindness. 

Though, as I have said, we may still from time 
to time hear of a small faction fight in the south 
of Ireland, few men can remember them in their 
palmy days, where at every fair and market oppos- 
ing factions met and many a head was broken. In 
1829, towards the close of the agitation for Catholic 
emancipation, all this was changed. O'Connell and 
the priests, constantly speaking and preaching against 
England's hated plan of governing Ireland by divide 
et impera^ unceasingly from platform and from altar 
urging the necessity of union, at last succeeded in 
reconciling the contending factions. Monster meet- 
ings and monster marchings, displays of physical 
forces, were organized. One of these great march- 



FACTION- FIGHTS 37 

ings, which passed close to our house, I saw, and 
indeed took part in it; for a friendly peasant in- 
duced me (it was nothing to me) to march some 
way in the procession carrying a green bough in 
my hand. It was the marching of the Reaskawallahs 
from their head-quarters near Doon to the head- 
quarters of the Coffeys at Newport. They marched 
six deep, in military order, with music and banners, 
each man carrjang, as an emblem of peace, a green 
bough ; the procession was nearly two miles long. 
On its arrival at Newport the meeting was cele- 
brated with much joy and whisky, and, in the pres- 
ence of the priests, a treaty of perpetual peace was 
established, and never from that day did those fac- 
tions meet again for battle. Similar reconciliations 
took place all over the country, and faction lighting 
practically ended. The peace established in other 
parts of Ireland did not, however, extend to the 
north, where the opposite parties were of a different 
sort — Orangemen v. Roman Catholics. They are 
now as ready for a fight as then, and are seldom 
long without one, and are expected to have a still 
livelier time if a Home Rule Bill should pass. 

The fights which occasionally occurred at funerals, 
the so-called battles of the Derrins (bury ings), had 
no connection with the regular faction fights, and 
continued long after the former had ceased. They 
never occurred except when there were two funerals 



38 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

on the same clay, in the same churchyard, and not 
very often even then. They had their origin in the 
superstition that the last person buried in a church- 
yard has, in addition to his other troubles, to carry 
water to allay the thirst (in Purgatory) of all those 
previously buried there. His or her work is inces- 
sant, day and night and in all weathers. Where the 
water comes from I have never heard, but as much 
is w^anted, for the w^eather there is very hot, the 
carrier of water is not relieved from his arduous 
duties till another funeral takes place. So, if there 
are to be two funerals at the same place on the same 
day, the lively competition as to which shall get 
first into the churchyard not unfrequently leads to a 
fio^ht. I have a vivid recollection of one such fio^ht 
in our neighbourhood, when much blood flowed. It 
arose in this way. Two funerals were approaching 
Abington Churchyard in opposite directions, one 
from Murroe, the other from Barrington's Bridge. 
The former was nearing the churchyard gate; on 
perceiving this the people in the other funeral took 
a short cut by running across a field, carrying the 
coffin with them, which they succeeded in throwing 
over the wall of the churchyard before the others 
w^ere able to get in by the gate. This was counted 
such sharp practice that they were at once attacked 
by the other party, and a battle royal ensued. 
Peasants have been known to put shoes or boots 



FAIRY DOCTORS 



39 



into coffins to save the feet of their relatives in their 
long and weary water-carrying walks. Our neigh- 
bour, John Eyan, of Cuppanuke, the Shawn Heige, 
whom I mentioned, put two pair of shoes in the 
coffin of his wife — a strong pair for bad weather, 
a light pair for ordinary wear. 

Amongst many superstitions none was more gen- 
eral than the belief that the fairies — "the good 
people," as the peasantry euphemistically call them 
— often take a child from its parents, substituting a 
fairy for it. This generally was supposed to happen 
when a child was very ill, especially if so ill as to be 
unable to speak. A chief part of the practice of 
fairy doctors, one or two of whom were sure to be 
found in every town, was to prescribe in cases of this 
kind. In the family of one of my father's labourers, 
Mick Tucker, such a case occurred. He and his 
wife JSTell had an only child, Johnny, who at the 
time I speak of was about eight years old. He was 
very ill, and for some days had not spoken. One 
morning I went with my mother to their cottage to 
see how he was. To our surprise we found him 
lying on his bed, outside the bedclothes, his feet on 
the bolster, his head at the foot of the bed ; on his 
chest a plate of salt, on which two rushes were 
placed across. On inquiry, we found that his mother 
had gone to Limerick the day before to consult IS'ed 
Gallagher, a fairy doctor of high repute in those 



40 SEVEATTV YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

days, and it was he who had prescribed this treat- 
ment, and had told her that under it the fairy would 
probably speak before evening, and declare what he 
wanted, and Avould depart. If, however, he did not, 
she was to light a turf fire opposite the house at 
twelve o'clock that night and hold the fairy over it 
on a shovel till he screamed, when he would at once 
vanish, the ''good people" at the same moment 
restoring the stolen child. This latter part of the 
prescription my father and mother determined to 
take steps to prevent ; but there was no need to do 
so, for happily before night Johnny began to speak. 
He gradually recovered, but he, as well as his 
parents, ever after firmly believed that he had been 
away with the "good people," and he would tell 
strange stories of the wonderful places he had visited 
and the beautiful things he had seen when on his 
fairy rambles ; while from his diminutive form and 
his wild ways many of the neighbours thought he 
was a fairy still. Some years after he lived in the 
service of an aunt of mine in Dublin. He still often 
talked of his fairy life ; he used to put out the light 
in the pantry and sit there in the dark alone, " paus- 
ing," as he called it. My aunt and cousins told me 
many a story of his strange behaviour. 

I had myself an amusing adventure with him. I 
was on a visit with my aunt, and had to start for 
Limerick by the night mail coach. It happened to 



A BAD SHOT 41 

be the Queen's birthday, on which day the coach- 
man and guards of the mail always got their new 
scarlet coats and gold lace hat-bands. All the 
coaches, too, were brightened up, and during the 
day went in procession through the streets, each 
drawn by four grey horses, the coachmen and guards 
resplendent in their new clothes and wearing large 
nosegays in their breasts. Precisely as the post- 
office clock struck eight on that and every evening, 
the mail coaches (there were eight or nine of them) 
followed each other from the post-office yard and 
passed into Sackville Street, where a crowd was 
always assembled to see the start. On that evening 
I had forgotten to take with me a parcel of ham- 
sandwiches which my aunt had ready for me. She 
found this out immediately after I had left her 
house, and told John Tucker to run after me with 
the parcel; but before he arrived the coach had 
started and was in Sackville Street. I was on the 
box-seat with the coachman, when I beheld John's 
figure emerging from the crowd, wildly shouting 
and gesticulating. He flung the package for me to 
catch; it missed me, but struck the coachman full 
on the chest. The parcel burst, and the beautiful 
new coat was spoiled with bread and ham, butter 
and mustard. The coachman used strong language, 
and gave John a good skelp with his whip, which 
made him scuttle off as fast as his little legs could 



42 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

carry him. I took no further notice, beyond saying 
to the coachman — 

"What could that queer little fellow mean by 
flinging all that stuff at you ? " 

" Didn't you see, sir," said he, " that was a lunatic ? 
Didn't you see the wild eyes of him, and the whole 
cut of him ? Bad luck to him ! he has destroyed my 
new coat." 

As John grew older his eccentricities Avore off, 
and for more than thirty years he was my faithful 
and trusted servant. 

Amongst his other accomplishments, when a boy, 
John was a very skilful bird-catcher, and an adept 
in making cribs and other traps ; and many a thrush 
and blackbird he captured and ate, and many a 
robin he caught and let go. The robin (in Irish, the 
spiddoge) is, as is well known, a blessed bird, and no 
one, no matter how Avild or cruel, would kill or hurt 
one, partly from love, partly from fear. They believe 
if they killed a robin a large lump would grow on 
the palm of their right hand, preventing them from 
working and from hurling. It is fear alone, how- 
ever, that saves a swallow from injury, for it is 
equally well known that every swallow has in him 
three drops of the devil's blood. All other birds are 
fair game. 

I was surprised last summer when in the county 
of Kerry to find a custom about robins still exist- 



A SUPERSTITION 43 

ing there, which I had thought Avas confined to 
the boys in Limerick and Tipperary. When a boy 
visited his crib, and in it, instead of the black- 
bird or thrush he hoped for, found a robin, his dis- 
appointment was naturally great. The robin he dare 
not kill, but he took the following proceedings. He 
brought the bird into the house, got a small bit of 
paper — printed paper was the best — put it into the 
robin's bill, and held it there, and addressed it thus : 
"Now, spiddoge^ you must swear an oath on the 
book in your mouth that you will send a blackbird 
or a thrush into my crib for me ; if you don't I will 
kill you the next time I catch you, and I now pull 
out your tail for a token, and that I may know you 
from any other robin." The tail was then pulled 
out, and the spiddoge let go — generally up the wide 
straight chimney. The boy well knew that he dare 
not carry out his threat, and when he caught a 
tailless robin, as there was nothing to pull out, he 
merely threatened him again and let him go. In 
very severe winters a robin with a tail was rarely 
to be seen. 



44 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTEE lY 

Good will of the peasantry before 1831 — A valentine — A jus- 
tice's bulls — A curious sight indeed — Farms to grow fat 
on — Some cooks — "What the Dean wears on his legs" — 
Blood-thirsty gratitude — Old servants and their theories. 

Feom the year 1826 to 1831 we lived on most 
friendly terms with the peasantry. They appeared 
to be devoted to us ; if we had been away for a 
month or two, on our return they met us in numbers 
some way from our home, took the horses from the 
carriage and drew it to our house amid deafening 
cheers of Avelcome, and at night bonfires blazed on 
all the neio:hbourino^ hills. In all their troubles and 
difficulties the people came to my father for assist- 
ance. There was then no dispensary nor doctor 
near us, and many sick folk or their friends came 
daily to my mother for medicine and advice ; I have 
often seen more than twenty with her of a morning. 
Our parish priest also was a special friend of ours, a 
constant visitor at our home. In the neighbouring 
parishes the same kindly relations existed between 
the priest and his flock and the Protestant clergy- 
man. But in 1831 all this was suddenly and sadly 



A VALENTINE 45 

changed when the tithe war, of which I shall say 
more by-and-by, came upon us. 

Amongst our neighbours was a Mr. K , who 

lived about five miles from us, and had a very pretty 
daughter, with whose beauty and brightness my 
brother, when about nineteen, was much taken. In 
those days it was the custom on St. Valentine's 
Day for every lover to send a "valentine" to the 

lady of his heart, so to Miss K he sent the 

following : — 

" Life were too long for me to bear 
If banished from thy view ; 
Life were too short a thousand year, 
If life were passed with you. 

" Wise men have said, ' Man's lot on earth 
Is grief and melancholy,' 
But where thou art there joyous mirth 
Proves all their wisdom folly. 

" If fate withhold thy love from me, 
All else in vain were given ; 
Heaven were imperfect wanting thee, 
And with thee earth were heaven." 

After a few days he wrote to her the further lines 
which follow : — 

" My dear good madam, 
You can't think liow very sad I'm ; 
I sent you, or mistake myself foully, 
A very excellent imitation of the poet Cowley, 



46 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Contaiinng three very fair stanzas, 
Which number, Longinus, a very critical man, says, 
And Aristotle, who was a critic ten times more caustic, 
To a nicety fits a valentine or an acrostic. 
And yet for all my pains to this moving epistle 
I have got no answer, so I suppose I may go whistle. 
Perhaps you'd have preferred that like an old monk I had 

pattered on 
In the style and after the manner of the unfortunate Chat- 

terton ; 
Or that, unlike my very reverend daddy's son, 
I had attempted the classicalities of the dull, though immortal 

Addison . 
I can't endure this silence another week ; 
What shall I do in order to make you speak ? 
Shall I give you a trope 
In the manner of Pope, 
Or hammer my brains like an old smith 
To get out something like Goldsmith ? 
Or shall I aspire on 
The same key touched by Byron, 
And laying my hand its wire on, 
With its music your soul set fire on 
By themes you ne'er can tire on ? 
Or say, 
I pray. 
Would a lay 
Like Gay 
Be more in your way? 
I leave it to you, 
Which am I to do ? 
It plain on the surface is 
That any metamorphosis. 
Which to effect you study. 
You may work on my soul or body. 



A VALENTINE 47 

Your frown or your smile makes me Savage or Gay 

lu action, as well as in song ; 
And if 'tis decreed I at length become Gray, 

Express but the word, and I'm Young. 
And if in the church I should ever aspire 

With friars and abbots to cope, 
By a nod, if you please, you can make me a Prior — 

By a word you can render me Pope. 
If you'd eat, I'm a Crabbe ; if you'd cut, I'm your Steel, 

As sharp as you'd get from the cutler ; 
I'm your Cotton whene'er you're in want of a reel, 
And your livery carry, as Butler. 

I'll ever rest your debtor 
If you'll answer my first letter ; 
Or must, alas ! eternity 
Witness your taciturnity? 
Speak — and oh ! speak quickly — 
Or else I shall grow sickly, 
And pine. 
And whine. 
And grow yellow and brown 

As e'er was mahogany. 
And lay me down 
And die in agony. 
P.S. You'll allow I have the gift 

To write like the immortal Swift." 



There were not many other gentry in our neigh- 
bourhood. One of those nearest to us was Captain 
Evans, of Ashroe, whose father had recently died. 
He had been a man of little education, but a stirring 
magistrate during the disturbances which had oc- 
curred some time previously. Many stories were 



48 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

told of him. It was said that in forwarding his 
reports on the state of the country to the authorities 
in Dublin Castle, he always began his letter, " My 
dear Government." In one of these reports he said, 
" You may rely on it, I shall endeavour to put down 
all nocturnal meetings, whether by day or by night." 
It was also told that in committing a man for cHmb- 
ing over his garden Avail, he added the following 
words to the charge : — " He did there and then 
feloniously say that he would be damned if he 
wouldn't climb over it as often as he pleased." I 
forget w^hether it was he who was foreman of a jury 
in a libel case, in Avhich the libel was that the 
plaintiff had been accused of stealing a goose. The 
verdict of the jury was, " We find for the plaintiff, 
with damages, the price of a goose." 

Another neighbour of ours was the Eev. George 
Madder, Eector of Ballj^brood, an old bachelor, who 
lived with a maiden sister, an elderly lady, solemn 
and stately, whom he held in great awe. She was 
very fond of flowers. When arranging some one 
morning in the drawing-room, she found a curious 
blossom which she had never seen before. Just as 
she discovered it her gardener passed the window, 
w^hich was open. " Come in, James," she called to 
him ; " I want to show you one of the most curious 
things you ever saw." James accordingly came in. 
Miss Madder sat down, not perceiving that the 



JUSTICE'S BULLS 49 

bottom of the chair had been lifted out. Down 
she went through the frame, nearly sitting on 
the floor. James went into fits of laughter, and 
said, " Well, ma'am, sure enough, it is one of the 
most curious things I ever seen in my life." 
" Stop, James," said she ; " conduct yourself, and 
lift me out." " Oh, begorra, ma'am. I can't stop," 
said he; "it's so curious; it bates all I ever seen." 
It was some time before she could make him un- 
derstand that her performance was not what he 
had been called in to see ; and when he had helped 
her up, he was dismissed with a strong rebuke for 
his levity. 

Mr. Madder was very fond of riding. He had 
bought a spirited young horse, which ran away with 
him and threw him ; but he escaped with a few 
bruises. Shortly afterwards my father met him, 
and said, " I hope. Madder, you are none the worse 
for your fall." " I'm all right, thank you. Dean," 
said he. " And how is Miss Madder % " said my 
father ; " she must have got a fright." " She is 
quite well," said he, '' but rather skittish, rather 
skittish." He was rather deaf, and thought my 
father was inquiring for the mare, not for Miss 
Madder. I am not sure whether it was she who, 
w^hen my father, at dinner, had helped her to turkey, 
at once said to him, " Sir, did you ever see a dean 
stuffed with chestnuts '\ " meaning of course to have 



50 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

asked, "Mr. Dean, did you ever see a turkey stuffed 
with chestnuts ? " 

Two of our more distant neighbours were Considine 
of Dirk and Croker of Ballingard, both men of con- 
siderable property, and each having in his hands 
a large farm. It was a moot point which held the 
richer land ; each maintained the superiority of bis 
own. At one time Considine had a farm to let. A 
man from the county of Kerry, where the land is 
very poor, came to see it, with a view of becoming 
tenant. " My good man," said Considine, " I don't 
think you are the man to take a farm like this. It 
is not like your miserable Kerry land, where a 
mountain sheep can hardly get enough to eat. You 
don't know how the grass grows here ! It grows so 
fast and so high, that if you left a heifer out in that 
field there at night, you would scarcely find her in 
the morning." " Bedad, yer honour," replied the 
Kerry man, " there's many a part of my own county 
where, if you left a heifer out at night, the devil 
a bit of her you'd ever see again ! " 

In a dispute as to the comparative merits of their 
farms, " I tell you what," said Considine, " an acre 
of Dirk would fatten a bullock." "Don't tell 
me!" said Croker; "an acre of Ballingard would 
fatten a bullock and a sheep." "AVhat is that to 
Dirk?" said the other; "I tell you an acre of 
Dirk would fatten Spaight of Limerick." Spaight 



NO WOMAN 51 

was a merchant in Limerick, the thinnest man in 
the count}^ 

This reminds me of a story recently told me of a 
Eoman Catholic bishop, one of the most agreeable 
men in Ireland, Cardinal Manning, who was, as we 
all know, as thin and emaciated as " Spaight of 
Limerick," when in Liverpool was visiting a convent 
where an Irishwoman was cook. She begged and 
prayed for the blessing of the cardinal. The lady 
superior presented the request to him, with which he 
kindly complied. The cook was brought in, knelt 
dowm before him, and received his blessing ; where- 
upon she looked up at him, and said, " May the Lord 
preserve your Eminence, and oh, may God forgive 
your cook ! " 

Apropos of cooks, I may here mention one who 
lived with my grandmother, and had formerly been 
cook to a Mrs. MoUoy, a lady who was housekeeper 
to the Irish House of Lords, and who had recently 
died. The cook never ceased talking of Mrs. Molloy, 
holding her up to the fellow-servants as the highest 
authority on all points, saying, '' Mrs. Molloy 
wouldn't have done this," or " Mrs. Molloy wouldn't 
have allowed that." This irritated the servants, and 
one day, as she was holding forth in this way, the 
butler said to her, " For God's sake, let the woman 
rest in her grave ! " She drew herself up with much 
dignity, and said, " Mrs. Molloy was no woman ; she 



52 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

was a lady ; and Til not let her rest in her grave for 
you or for any man." She described Mrs. Molloy's 
splendour Avhen going to the castle, " with a turbot 
on her head, with beautiful oxe's feathers in it." It 
was she who, hearing her mistress tell the kitchen- 
maid to say '' peas," not '' pays," said to her, " Don't 
mind her; say 'pays,' as your honest mother and 
father did before you." 

Another neighbour of ours was a retired barrister, 
named Holland, a pompous old gentleman, who 
lived at Ballyvoreen, about two miles from us. 

One Saturday afternoon two of my father's 
gaiters, both for the same leg, had been sent for 
repair to one Ilalloran, a shoemaker in the village of 
Murroe, not far off, with strict orders to him to 
mend one, at least, of them that evening, and send 
it home early next morning. It was near eleven 
o'clock on Sunday morning — service began at 
twelve — and the gaiters had not arrived, so the 
servant told the stable-boy, a wild-looking youth, 
and as wild as he looked, to run off as fast as he 
could to Halloran's, and to bring the gaiters, done 
or undone — not to come without them. "What is 
a gaiter \ " said the boy. " What the Dean wears 
on his legs," said the servant. The boy thought the 
man had said Holland's, not Halloran's, and so off 
he ran to Ballyvoreen, rang violently at the hall 
door, and, Avhen a servant appeared, said, " Give me 



RETRIBUTIVE GRATITUDE 53 

what the Dane wears on his legs." '* What do you 
mean ? " said the servant. " I mane what I say, and 
I must get it, done or undone, so you may as Avell 
give it to me at once." Mr. Holland, hearing loud 
voices in the hall, came out and asked what the 
noise was about. " Give me," said the boy, " wdiat 
the Dane wears on his legs." " The boy is mad," 
said Holland. " I'm not mad. I must have it, done 
or undone, and I wonder at a gentleman of your 
affluence refusing to give it up ; but it's no use for 
you, for I w^on't go till I get it." Supposing him to 
be a lunatic, Holland shut the door, and the boy had 
finally to go home. Meantime Halloran had sent 
the gaiters in time for my father to wear them 
going to church. 

Some years after this the same boy acted as my 
fishing attendant or gillie, and, later on, when I was 
in Dublin, wrote to me to say that he was anxious 
to emigrate to America, and begging that I would 
send him a little money to help him to do so. I 
sent him a few pounds, and received from him the 
following letter : — 

''Honoured Sir, 

" God bless j^ou for what you sent me. If I gets on I'll send 
as much back; but if I dies, plaze God I'll meet you in the 
Lizzura fields, and pay your honour then. But any way you 
always have the prayers of your humble servant, 

"Michael Brien. 

"P. 8. — Is there any one here that ever done anything to 



54 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

injure or offend you, that your honour would like anything to 
be done to ? I'd like to do something for your honour before I 
goes, to show how thankful I am." 

"When speaking of our coachman, the amateur 
surgeon, I forgot to mention that he loved to bring 
in a few French words, which he had picked up in 
his travels. One day as he drove across a ford on 
the Bilboa river, near Doon, seeing that my mother 
was rather frightened, he turned to her and said, 
" Never fear, madam ; but, indeed, if you had a 
faux jpas of a coachman instead of me you might 
be drowned." Another day he had been telling me 
of a robbery of a large quantity of plate from Mr. 
Loyd's house at Tower Hill. " I wonder," I said to 
him, *' how they disposed of all that plate." " You 
may be sure," he said, " they sent it up to them 
connoisseurs in Dublin." 

M}^ father's sexton was named Young — a queer 
old fellow too. When asked his name by any one, 
his invariable reply was, " Well, sir, I'm Young by 
name, but old by nature." One Sunday morning in 
the vestry room my father could not find his stole. 
"This is most provoking," said he; "the congre- 
gation Tvill wonder why I do not wear it to-day." 
" Let them Avonder," said Young ; " but what does it 
signify if your raverence had not a tack upon you, 
so long as you preach a good sermon ? " 

Another day one of the parishioners having died 



A GRATEFUL POACHER 55 

very suddenly, my father said to him, " How terribly 
sudden the death of poor Keys was ! " " Ah ! your 
raverence," said he, " the Lord gave that poor man 
no sort of fair play." 

In ploughing a field near the rectory, some old 
coins had been found ; when Young saw some of 
them he said he did not think they could be very 
old, for " Don't you see the family of the Eexes was 
on the throne when they were made ? " 

The same mistake has been made by others. 
Darwin mentions that when in Chili he found a 
Cornish man, who was settled there, who thought 
that " Kex " was the name of the reigning family. 

My nurse, who still lived with us, said she was 
sure the coins must have been hid there by the 
bishops. '^What bishops?" I asked her. "The 
bishops that conquered Ireland long ago," said she. 
On my telling her that bishops had never conquered 
this country, " Well," said she, " it must have been 
the danes (deans), or clergy of some sort." 

When first we were at Abington, a peasant 
girl came two or three times to the rectory with 
a hare and other game for sale. My father wish- 
ing to ascertain whether she came by them 
honestly, asked her where she got them. " Sure, 
your raverence," said she, " my father is poacher 
to Lord Clare." 

Something of the same sort occurred live and 



56 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

twenty years later. When I was engaged as engineer 
on the railway from Mallow to Fermoy, then in 
course of construction, a friend asked me to get 
employment for a man who lived near Doneraile, 
in whom he felt an interest. I succeeded in getting 
him a good post under the contractor ; he wrote me 
a letter full of gratitude. He had no doubt heard 
that I was fond of fishing, and must have thought 
that what I liked best was eating the trout, not 
catching them, for to his letter was added the 
following postscript : " I understand your honour is 
fond of fronts, so I hopes before long to send your 
honour some good ones, for I do, sometimes, draw 
my Lord Doneraile's preserves by night." Lord 
Doneraile very strictly preserved his part of the 
Awbey river (Spencer's gentle Mullagh), which is 
famous for the size and beauty of its trout. 

It was in the year 1838 that Father Mathew, one 
of the simplest minded men I have ever known, 
began his noble temperance work, which soon was 
crowned with such marvellous and unparalleled 
success. I have seen several of his monster meet- 
ings, where thousands took the pledge ; many of the 
great processions too, marching to meetings. As 
one of these with bands and banners passed through 
Sackville Street, a tipsy man, leaning with his back 
to the railings, w^as gazing at it with a contemptuous 
stare, and as my brother and I passed by him we 



TEMPERANCE WORK 57 

heard him say, ^^ What are they after all ? what are 
they but a pack of cast drunkards ? " 

Another drunken man, whom a friend was trying 
to bring to his home some miles away, was con- 
stantly crossing from one side of the road to the 
other, so his friend said to him, " Come on, Pat, come 
on ; the road is long." " I know it is long," said 
Pat ; '' but it isn't the length of it, bat the breadth 
of it that is killing me." 

It was only a few months ago that I was told of a 
man, in like condition, who was knocked down by 
the buffer of an engine, which was shunting some 
waggons, near Bray station. He was stunned for a 
moment, but very slightly hurt. The porters ran to 
his assistance. One of them said, " Bring him to the 
station at once." He thought they meant the police 
station. "What do you want to take me to the 
station for? " said he. " You know who I am ; and 

if I have done any damage to your b machine, 

sure I'm able to pay for it ! " 



58 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTER Y 

The tithe war of 1831: the troops come to our village — A 
marked man — " Push on ; they are going to kill ye ! " — Not 
his brother's keeper — Boycotting in the thirties — None so 
dead as he looked — Lord Cloncurry's manifesto — A fulfilled 
prophecy. 

In 1831 came the titlie war, and with it our 
friendly relations with the priests and people ceased. 
The former, not unnaturally, threw themselves heart 
and soul into the agitation. The Protestant clergy 
were denounced by agitators and priests from plat- 
form and from altar, and branded as the worst 
enemies of the people, who were told to hunt them 
like mad dogs from the country ; they were insulted 
wherever they went, many were attacked, some 
were murdered. It is hard now to realize the sud- 
denness with which kindness and good-will were 
changed to insult and hate; for a short time we 
were not so badly treated as some of the neighbour- 
ing clergy, but the people would not speak to us, and 
scowled at us as we passed. 

Of Doon, a parish which adjoined Abington, our 
cousin, the Rev. Charles Coote, w^as rector. At the 
very commencement of the agitation he had given 



THE TITHE WAR 59 

much offence by taking active measures to enforce 
the payment of his tithes. It was thus his fight 
began. He had for years been on the most intimate 

and friendly terms with Father H , the parish 

priest, who held a considerable farm, for which Mr. 
Coote would never allow him to pay tithe. When 

the agitation against tithes began. Father H 

preached a fierce sermon against them, denouncing 
Mr. Coote from the altar, telling the people that 
any man who paid one farthing of that " blood- 
stained impost" was a traitor to his country and 
his God. "Take example by me, boys," he said; 
" Pd let my last cow be seized and sold before I'd 
pay a farthing to that scoundrel Coote." On hear- 
ing of tliis, Mr. Coote wrote to ask him whether the 
report he had heard was true ; he replied that he 
was proud to say that it was true, adding, "You 
may seize and sell my cattle if you can, but I'd like 
to see the man that would buy them." Coote, who 
was a brave and determined man, was so indignant 
that he resolved to fight it out with the priest. He 
gave orders to his bailiff, and next morning at break 
of day, before any one dreamt that he would make 
the attempt, one of the priest's cows was taken and 
impounded. Public notice was given that, on a 
day and hour named, the cow would be sold in 
Doon ; counter notices were posted through the 
country telling the people to assemble in their 



6o SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

thousands to see Father H 's cow sold. Mr. 

Coote went to Dublin to consult the authorities at 
the Castle, and returned next day, with a promise 
from the Government that they would support him. 

Early on the morning fixed for the sale I was 
sitting at an open window in our breakfast-room, 
when my attention was roused by the sound of 
bagpipes playing "The Campbells are Coming." 
On looking in the direction whence the sound came, 
I saw four companies of Highlanders, headed by 
their pipers, marching down the road, followed by a 
troop of lancers and artillery with two guns. 

On this little army went to Doon, where many 
thousands of the country people were assembled. 
At the appointed hour the cow was put up for sale. 
There was a belief then prevalent among the people 
that at a sale unless there were at least three 
bidders, nothing could be sold ; under this mistaken 
idea, a friend of the priest bid a sum, much beyond 
her value, for the cow; she was knocked down to 
him, he was obliged to hand the money to the 
auctioneer, and the tithe was paid. During all this 
time, except shouting, hooting at the soldiers, and 
" groans for Coote," nothing was done ; but when 
the main body of the troops had left the village 
shots were fired, and volle3^s of stones were thrown 
at four of the lancers who had remained after the 
others as a rear guard. They fired their pistols at 



THE TITHE WAR 6i 

their assailants, one of whom was wounded. The 
rest of the lancers, hearing the shots, galloped back 
and quickly dispersed the crowd. It was w^eary 
work for the troops, as the day was very hot and 
bright, and their march to and from Doon was a 
long one, that village being certainly not less than 
fifteen miles from Limerick. On their return they 
bivouacked and dined in a field close to us, sur- 
rounded by crowds of the peasantry, many of whom 
had never seen a soldier before ; after a brief rest 
the pipes struck up, "The Campbells are Coming," 
and they were on their march again. So ended this, 
to us, memorable day. 

The next morning, as we w^ere at breakfast, the 
room door opened ; an old man came in ; he fell on 
his knees and cried, "Oh, wirasthru, my little boy 
is killed, my boy is shot ! Sure the craythur w^as 
doin' nothing out of the way when the sogers shot 
him. Oh, Yo! Yo! What w^ill I ever do widout 
my little boy ! " " What can I do for you, my poor 
man ? " said my father. " Ah ! then it's what I 
want your honour to give me a bit of note that'll 
get him into the hospital in Limerick." 

My father at once gave him the order for his 
sons admission. He departed invoking blessings 
on us, and shedding tears of gratitude. 

As we afterwards found, the "little boy" was a 
youth of six and twenty, w^ho had got a slight flesh 



62 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

wound in the leg. They never brought him to the 
hospital, but they paraded him, all day, through the 
streets of Limerick, lying in a cart, covered with a 
blood-stained sheet ; to the back of the cart a board 
was fixed, on which, in large letters, was this 
inscription, " These aee the Blessings of Tithes." 
From that day Mr. Coote was a marked man. 

Wherever he or any of his family were seen 
they were received with shouts and yells, and cries 
of " Mad dog ! mad dog ! To hell with the tithes ! 
Down with the tithes ! " One afternoon, when we 
returned from a visit to the rectory at Doon, we 
received a message from our parish priest to say 
that if we went there any more we should be treated 
as the Cootes were. Accordingly on our return 
from our next visit to them, shouts and curses fol- 
lowed us all the wa}" home ; from that day forward, 
when any of us (or even our carriage or car) was 
seen, the same shouts and cursing were heard in all 
directions. On one occasion this gave rise to an 
incident which amused us much. Anster, a poet 
popular in Dublin, and well known there as the 
translator of Goethe's '' Faust," and author of many 
pretty poems, came to spend a few days with us. 
As he drove from Limerick on our car, the usual 
shouting followed him; being slightly deaf, he 
heard the shouts only, not the words of threatening 
and abuse. At dinner, with a beaming countenance. 



THE TITHE WAR 63 

he said to my father, " Mr. Dean, I never knew I 
was so well known down here, but one's fame some- 
times travels further than we think. I assure you, 
nearly the whole way as I drove from Limerick I 
was loudly cheered by the people." When we told 
him what the cheering was, the form of his visage 
changed. 

At this time none of us went out alone, and we 
were always well armed. This the people knew, 
and did not actually attack any of us except on two 
occasions. On one of these my sister, who till a few 
months before had been idolized by the people for 
her goodness to them and untiring work amongst 
them, thought that if she and two girls, cousins, 
who were with us at the time, drove out by them- 
selves, they woukl not be molested, especially as 
she had recently been in very delicate health. So 
taking advantage of an hour when the rest of the 
family were out, they went for a drive, when not 
only were they received with the usual hooting, but 
were pelted with mud and stone. One of the girls 
had a front tooth broken, and they were glad to 
get home without further injury, and never again 
ventured to go out without protection. 

The other attack happened thus. My father had 
been persuaded by some friends to try whether 
offering a large abatement, and giving time, might 
induce some of the farmers to pay at least some part 



64 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

of the tithes then due. A number of circulars 
offering such terms were prepared. These my 
cousin, Robert Flemyng, and I (little more than 
boys at the time) undertook to distribute, and to 
explain the terms to the farmers whose houses we 
proposed to visit. On our first day's ride nothing 
worth mentioning beyond the usual hooting oc- 
curred. Some of the houses were shut against us 
as the inmates saw us approach ; at some few we 
were not uncivilly received, but were distinctly told 
that under no circumstances would one farthing of 
tithes ever be paid again. 

On the following day we rode to a different part 
of the parish, to visit some farmers in the direction 
of Limerick. As we turned off the main road 
down a by-road leading to the village of Kishiquirk, 
we saw a man standing on a hillock holding in his 
hands a spade, high in air, then lowering the spade 
and giving a shrill whistle, then holding up the 
spade again. We knew this must be a signal, but 
for what we couldn't think. When we reached the 
village, a considerable and very threatening crowd 
was collected there, who saluted us with " Down 
with the Orangemen ! Down with the tithes ! " 
As this looked like mischief, we drew our pistols 
from our pockets, and each holding one in his right 
hand, we rode slowly through the throng. As we 
o^ot near the end of the villa^-e a woman called to 



A NARROW SHAVE 65 

US, "What are ye riding so slow for? Push on, I 
tell you ; they are going to kill ye ! " We did ^^ush 
on, and Avith some difficulty, by riding one after the 
other, got past a cart which was hastily drawn 
across the road to stop us. On we galloped, showers 
of stones after us as we went. About a quarter of a 
mile further on another but smaller crowd awaited 
us; they were not on the road, but just inside the 
mound fence which bordered it. On this mound 
they had made ready a good supply of stones for 
our reception, but, seeing us hold our pistols towards 
them, they did not venture to throw the stones till 
just as we had passed them, when they came after 
us volley after volley. Many a blow we and our 
horses got, but none that stunned. One man only 
was on the road, and, as we got near him, I saw him 
settling his spade in his hand as if to be ready to 
strike a blow. I presented my pistol at him. " Don't 
shoot me," he called out ; " I'm only Avorking here." 
But just as I passed him he made a tremendous 
blow at me ; it missed me, but struck the horse just 
behind the saddle. The spade was broken by the 
violence of the blow. Down went the horse on his 
haunches, but was quickly up again, and on we 
went. Had he fallen, I should not have been alive 
many minutes; he brought me bravely home, but 
never recovered, and died soon afterwards. 

As we neared our house we met a funeral, headed 



66 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

by the Roman Catholic curate of the parish. We 
rode up to him, covered as we and our horses were 
with mud and blood, in the vain hope that he would 
say some words of exhortation to the people. " See," 

we said, " Father M , how we have been treated 

when we were on a peaceful and friendl}^ mission to 
some of your flock." " I suppose," said he, '' ye were 
unwelcome visitors." '' Is that any reason," said I, 
"that they should try to murder us?" "It's no 
business of mine," said he, and passed on. 

A proclamation, as fruitless as such proclamations 
then were, and now are, was issued by the Govern- 
ment, offering a reward to any one who would give 
such information as would lead to the conviction of 
any of the men who had attacked us. It was well 
we had not gone that day to visit a farmer in another 
direction, where, as we afterAvards learned, four 
armed men lay in wait, in a plantation by the road, 
to shoot us. 

Mr. Coote was much surprised when he heard 
all this. He had always said, " Let them shout and 
hoot as they will, in their hearts they like us too 
well to shoot either you or me, or any one belonging 
to us." A few weeks later he was painfully un- 
deceived. As he rode home from church he stopped 
his horse, as he had often done before, to let him 
take a mouthful of water from a little stream which 
crossed the road; he had scarcely stopped when a 



BOYCOTTING BEFORE BOYCOTT 67 

thundering report, which nearly deafened him, and 
a cloud of smoke came from a little grove close 
beside him. The blunderbuss which had been aimed 
at him had burst: its shattered remains, a half- 
emptied bottle of whisky, and a quantity of blood 
were found in the grove. Hearing of this, I went 
next day to see him. Xever did I see a man more 
saddened and disappointed. He said, " I would not 
have believed it would ever come to this." 

Boycotting, supposed to be a recent invention 
(in reality only new in name), was put in force 
against the clergy, to whom the people were for- 
bidden to speak. Placards were posted all through 
the neighbourhood ordering that no one should 
work for Mr. Coote on pain of death. 

There lived near Doon six stalwart young fellows, 
brothers, named Lysaght, whom some years pre- 
viousl}^, Mr. Coote, being fully convinced of their 
innocence, had by his exertions saved from transpor- 
tation, to which, on perjured evidence, they had been 
sentenced. The real culprits were afterwards ar- 
rested and convicted. These six fellows were deter- 
mined to work for their benefactor, so they, with 
some Protestant parishioners of his, assembled one 
fine morning on the bog of Doon, to cut his turf. 
Suddenly about mid-day crowds of men appeared 
crossing the bog from all sides towards the workmen, 
shouting and firing shots. The turf-cutters ran for 



68 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH EIFE 

their lives to the rectory, not waiting to put on their 
coats. The mob came on, tore up the clothes, de- 
stroyed the turf that had been cut, smashed the turf- 
cutting implements, and then retired as they came, 
with shouts and shots. 

We were not "boycotted" to the same extent, 
and were allowed to cut our turf and save our crops. 
One morning we heard a rumour that our labourers, 
who were saving our hay, were to be stopped, and 
we were preparing for an attack, when our steward 
said, " Yon needn't be a morsel uneasy, for it would 
be illegal for them to come to annoy us without 
giving us regular proper notice." 

The Lysaghts, whom I have mentioned as help- 
ing Mr. Coote in his difficulties, were amongst the 
coolest and most determined fellows I ever met. 
They had been among the bravest of the Eeaska- 
wallahs, and by their prowess had often turned the 
tide of war, and won the victory in their battles 
with the Ooffeys. 

One evening, just as Mr. Coote had got off his 
horse at his hall door, a man ran up to him, and 
said, " Oh, your honour, they are murdering Ned 
Lysaght there below on the road to Cappamore." 

He remounted his horse at once, and galloped 
down the road, where he found Lysaght lying in 
a pool of blood, apparently dead, and saw three 
men running away across the fields. He jumped 



NOT DEAD ALTOGETHER 69 

off his horse, knelt down beside Ned, and said, 
" Ah, my poor dear fellow, have they killed you ? " 

Ned opened his eyes, and sat up, blood stream- 
ing from his head and face. " Thanks be to the 
Lord, I'm not killed entirely; but they thought 
I was. They keni up, unknownst to me, behind 
me, and one of them struck me wid a stone, and 
tumbled me. As soon as I was down the three of 
them bate me wid sticks and stones till they thought 
I was dead. I didn't purtind to be dead too soon, 
in dread they'd know I was seaming ; but when one 
of them gev me a thremendious crack on the head, 
I turned up my eyes, and ^ Och, dhe alamon am ' 
(' God, take my soul '), says I, and shtiffend my legs 
and my arms, and, begorra, they were full sure it's 
what I was dead ; and, till I heard your honour's 
voice, I never opened an eye, or stirred hand or fut, 
in dhread they might be watchin' me." 

" Do you know them ? " asked Mr. Coote. 

^' I partly guess who one of them w^as ; but I 
couldn't be too sure, for they all had their faces 
blackened," said he. 

After a few minutes Lysaght was able, with Mr. 
Coote's help, to walk back to the rectory, and in a 
few weeks he was as well and strong as ever. 

During the tithe war the following characteristic 
circular was sent by Lord Cloncurry to the tenants 
on his large property in my father's parish. The 



70 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Mr. Robert Cassicly mentioned was his agent, who 
took an active part in the agitation against tithes. 

"TITHES 

'■''Lord Cloncurry to his Tenants 

"I am told that Mr. Robert Cassidy has advised you not to 
pay tithes. I hope it is not so, for I never authorised him so to 
do. If tithe was abolished to-raorrov^, all new leases would be 
at an increased rent. The poor man would then be far worse 
off than under the composition, which makes tithe comparatively 
light to the small holder and potatoe-grower. 

"I think Parliament will soon make a different provision 
for Protestant clergy, and not call on the Roman Catholics to 
pay them ; but I hope the landlords will pay tithe for the 
support of the poor and other useful purposes ; and, until the 
law be changed, I think all honest and wise men should obey 
it, even in its present offensive and, I must add, unjust state. 
" Your affectionate friend and landlord, 

" Cloncurry." 

It is a remarkable fact that his grandson, the 
present Lord Cloncurry, was the iirst landlord in 
Ireland to make a bold, and so far successful, de- 
fence of his rights against the " ]^o Eent " agitation 
of the Land League on this very same property. 

During all these troublous times the landlords 
looked on with indifference, and showed little sym- 
pathy with the clergy in their difficulties. My 
brother used to say, ''IS'ever mind, their time will 
come ; rents will be attacked, as tithes are now, 
with the same machinery, and with like success.'^ 



RENT AND TITHES 71 

His prophecy was laughed at. Long after, one who 
had heard hnn said to him, " Well, Le Fanu, your 
rent war hasn't come." All he said was, "'Twill 
come, and soon too." And, as we know, come it 
did with a vengeance. 

In 1832 Lord Stanley (afterwards Lord Derby), 
then Chief Secretary for Ireland, who was a friend 
of my father's, placed him on a commission, ap- 
pointed by the Government to make inquiries and 
investigations respecting tithes with a view to legis- 
lation. This necessitated his residence in or near 
Dublin for a considerable time, so we left Abington 
and all our troubles there, and did not return till 
nearly three years later. Meantime, the tithe ques- 
tion having been settled by Parliament, the country 
had settled down into its normal state ; and though 
the old cordial relations with the peasantry never 
could be quite restored, still, we lived on friendly 
terms with them till my father's death in 184:5. 



72 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTEK YI 

The pleasures of coaching — I enter at Trinity College, Dublin 
— A miser Fellow: Anecdotes about — Whately, Archbishop 
of Dublin, and his legs — The vocative of cat — Cliarles 
Lever's retort — Courteous to the Bishop. 

Travelling in those days — sixty years ago — was 
an affair very different from what it now is. The 
journey from Limerick to Dublin, a distance of a 
hundred and twenty miles, was a serious undertak- 
ing. If you wanted a seat inside the coach, you had 
to secure it three or four days beforehand ; if out- 
side, a day or two before the day on which you 
meant to travel. The day coach, which carried 
seventeen passengers, four inside and thirteen out, 
nominally performed the journey in fourteen hours, 
but practically took two hours more. The night 
mail, which was very punctual, did it in twelve 
hours ; it carried only eight passengers, four outside 
and four in. Of the outside travellers, one sat on 
the box beside the coachman, and three on the seat 
behind him. The back of the coach was occupied 
by the mail-bags and the guard, or guards (there 
were sometimes two), who were armed with brass- 



PLEASURES OF COACHING 7^ 

barrelled blunderbusses and pistols to guard the 
mails, as the mail-coaches were occasionally attacked 
and robbed. The coach was comparatively small, 
and, with people of any size, it Avas a tight fit to 
squeeze four into it. As soon as the four unhappy 
passengers were seated, and had put on their night- 
caps, the first thing was to arrange their legs so as 
to incommode each other as little as possible; the 
next was to settle which of the windows was to be 
open, and how much of it. This was seldom settled 
without a good deal of bickering and dispute. The 
box-seat, which was the favourite in the day coach, 
was least sought for in the mail ; and rightly so, for 
it was hard to keep awake all night, and if you fell 
asleep, you couldn't lean back — there was nothing 
to lean on ; the box-seat had no back. If you leant 
to the right, you fell against the coachman, who 
awoke you with a shove, and requested you would 
not do that again ; if you did it again, he gave you 
a harder shove, and used some strong language. If 
you leant to your left, you did it at your peril ; the 
low rail at the side of the seat could not prevent 
your falling off ; it was only about four inches high. 
How often have I wakened with a start, when I was 
all but over, resolved to sleep no more. Yain reso- 
lution ! In ten minutes I was fast asleep again, 
again to be awakened with another frightful start; 
and so on for the greater part of the night. A few 



74 SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIEE 

years later, Avhen I had constantly to travel by 
night, I adopted the device of strapping myself to 
the seat with a strong leather strap. 

Besides the two I have mentioned, there was a 
third, the Birr coach, so called because it broke the 
journey at the town of Birr, now called Parsonstown 
from the family name of Lord Kosse, whose fine 
demesne and castle adjoin the town. This coach 
took two days to perform the journey, and was on 
that account much patronized by ladies, children, 
and invalids, for whom the long day's journey in the 
day coach was too fatiguing. It was a fine roomy 
vehicle, carrjang six inside. 

It was by this coach that most of our party made 
our journey from Abington to Dublin. My father, 
with my brother, had started a day or two before 
the rest of the family, to have things ready for us in 
Dublin. AYe followed — my mother, my sister, a 
cousin who had been staying with us, and myself — 
inside the coach, with a lady and gentleman whom 
we did not know. On the outside w^ere my 
mother's maid, a man-servant, fifteen other pas- 
sengers, and a huge pile of luggage on the roof. 
We got to Birr in time for supper, and had to be up 
at ^\Q next morning, as the coach was to resume its 
journe}^ at six. It w^as pitchy dark and snowing 
thicklj^ Avhen we started. About four miles from 
Birr the road passes through a bog. As there was 



J AC KEY BARRETT 75 

about seven inches of snow on the ground, it was 
not easy for the coachman to see the edge of the 
road distinctly. He went too much to one side, 
the off wheels went into a hollow, and in an instant 
over went the coach on its side. The outside 
passengers were flung into the bog, but were saved 
from injury by the softness of the snow and turf — 
none of them were hurt ; while we inside had our 
hands and faces cut by the broken glass of the 
Avindows. 

After walking a mile we reached a cabin, whose 
inmates entertained us till the coach was put upon 
its legs again, fresh harness brought from Birr, and 
the luggage repacked. It was nearly four hours 
before we were on the road again, and we arrived 
^N<d hours behind our time in Dublin. This kind of 
mishap was not uncommon in the good old coaching 
days. 

During our residence in Dublin, my brother and I 
entered Trinity College, where we subsequently took 
our degrees; but our names being on the country 
list, we were enabled for the greater part of the 
year to live at Abington, only coming up periodi- 
cally to the examinations in the University. 

Some years previously one of the Fellows, Doctor 
Barrett, better known as Jackey Barrett, a remark- 
able character, had died. He had been equally 
famous as a miser and a Hebrew scholar. Of him 



^6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

many a story was told, well known then to the 
students. Many of them are now forgotten, and 
some at least will, I hope, be new to my readers. 
He had never, it was said, but once been out of 
Dublin, rarely outside the College gates. He dined 
at Commons ; his only other meal was his breakfast, 
consisting of a penny loaf and a halfpennyworth of 
milk. Every morning he handed a halfpenny to the 
old woman who looked after his rooms, and sent 
her out to buy the milk. One frosty morning she 
slipped, fell, and broke her leg. She was taken to 
a hospital, and for once Barrett ventured beyond 
the College precincts, and went to see her. " Well, 
Mar}^," he said to her, " do you see me now, I 
suppose the jug is broken, but where is the half- 
penny ? " 

As a rule he prefaced everything he said with the 
words, " Do you see me now." Having never been 
in the country, he had scarcely seen a bird, except 
the sparrows which hopped about the College 
courts. The only time he was known to have been 
out of Dublin was when he had been summoned to 
Naas, in the county of Kildare, to give evidence in 
some law case. As he stood in the stable-yard of 
the inn he saw a cock on the opposite side of the 
yard, and addressed the ostler thus — 

" My good man, do j^ou see me now, what is that 
beautiful bird over there % " 



''PRESENT I FIREr' yj 

Ostler. " Ah, go away with you ! You know 
what it is as well as I do." 

Barrett. " Indeed I do not ; and I'll be greatly 
obliged if you'll tell me." 

Ostler. " Ah, get out ; you're a-humbugging me ! 
You know well enough it's a cock." 

Barrett. " Is it, indeed ? I thank you exceed- 
ingly." 

After his death, in the margin of the page in 
Buffon's "Natural History," where the cock is 
described, there was found in Barrett's hand these 
words : " The ostler was right ; it loas a cock." 

At a discussion at the College Board as to how to 
get rid of a huge heap of rubbish which lay in the 
College Park, Barrett suggested that they should 
dig a hole and bury it. 

"But, Doctor Barrett," said they, "what shall 
we do with the stuff that comes out of the hole ? " 

" Do you see me now," said he ; " dig another 
and bury it." 

One morning when a company of the College 
corps (volunteers) were being drilled in the College 
Park, Barrett happened to pass by. To show re- 
spect to him, as a Fellow of College, the officer in 
command gave the word " Present arms ! " when to 
his surprise he saAV Barrett tucking up his gown and 
running away as fast as his legs would carry him. 
Barrett, on being asked afterwards why he ran 



78 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

away, said, '* Well, do you see me now, I heard the 
officer saying ' Present ! ' and I knew the next word 
would be ' Fire ! ' and if I didn t run I'd have been 
shot." 

At this time he was a great friend of a brother 
Fellow, Magee, afterwards Bishop of Raphoe, and 
finally Archbishop of Dublin, who was grandfather 
of the late Archbishop of Tork, and was the only 
person to whom Barrett ever lent money. He 
wanted a loan of five pounds, and went to see 
Barrett in his rooms, who agreed to make the loan, 
went into his bedroom, and returned with an old 
stocking full of guineas in his hand. Just as he 
came into the room the stocking burst, and the 
guineas were scattered on the floor. Magee stooped 
dow^n to help Barrett to pick them up. 

" Stop, stop, Magee ! " said he. " Do you see me 
now, get up and stand on that table, and I'll pick 
them up." 

The loan was then made, and Magee left him 
countino^ the o^uineas. 

A few days afterwards he met him, and said, " I 
hope, Barrett, you found 3^our guineas all right ? " 

" Well, do you see me now," said Barrett, " they 
were all right but one. One was gone ; and maybe 
it rolled into a mouse-hole, Magee, and maybe it 
didn't:' 

He afterwards quarrelled with Magee, and, de- 



BARRETT AND MAGEE 79 

testing him as much as he had hked him, could not 
bear to hear his name mentioned. When Magee 
was made bishop, the other Fellows used to tease 
Barrett by asking him whether he had heard of 
Magee's promotion. On one such occasion he 
replied — 

^' No, I haven't heard of it, and moreover I don't 
want to hear of it." 

" Didn't you hear," said they, " he has been made 
Bishop of Kaphoe ? " 

"Do you see me now," said Barrett, "I don't 
care if he was made bishop of hell so long as I am 
not in his lordship's diocese." 

Barrett was Professor of Hebrew. He was ex- 
amining a class in the Psalms. One of the students, 
not knowing his Avork at all, was prompted by one 
Dickinson, a good Hebrew scholar, who sat next 
him, and said aloud — 

" And the hills skipped like rams." 

" Yes," said Barrett, " do you see me, the hills 
did skip like rams, but it was Dickinson that told 
you so." 

One evening at a dinner-party at Doctor Elring- 
ton's the conversation turned on Barrett. My father 
told a story of a gentleman who lived in a part of 
Dublin far from the College, who, on a very cold 
snowing night, had sent his son, a young boy, to 
Doctor Barrett's for a book which he had promised 



8o SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

to lend him. The boy knocked at the door ; Barrett 
came out of his room, in which there was no light, 
and on hearing what he wanted, went in again, 
leaving the boy shivering outside. He shortly 
returned with a book in his hand, and said, " Now, 
go home with this to your father, tell him I think 
it is the book he wants, for I think I can put my 
hand on every book in my library ; but if it isn't, 
come back, do you see me now, and I'll light a 
candle and look for it." As my father finished, 
Elrington said, " Mr. Dean, I can vouch for the truth 
of that stor}^, for /was that boy." 

A student who lived in rooms on the floor below 
those of Doctor Barrett, and who knew what a miser 
he was, and that he would walk a mile any day to 
save or get a halfpenny, got one, bored a hole 
through it, and tied a long thin thread to it, then 
laid it on a step of the stairs, half-way between his 
rooms and Barrett's, and passed the thread under his 
own door, through a chink in which he watched for 
the approach of the doctor. The latter soon emerged 
from his room, and, as he came down the stairs, 
espied the halfpenn}^, and at once stooped to pick it 
up, when a gentle pull at the string brought it to the 
next step. There Barrett made another attempt to 
catch it ; again it went to the next step ; and so on 
to the bottom of the flight, eluding every grab the 
doctor made at it, till, by a sudden chuck at the 



ARCHBISHOP WHATELY 8i 

thread, it disappeared altogether, passing under the 
student's door, while Barrett murmured, ''Do you 
see me now, I never saw such a halfpenny as that ! " 

It is said that on his death his will was found 
to contain only the following words : — "I leave every 
thing I am possessed of to feed the hungry and 
clothe the naked." By the most penurious saving 
he had accumulated a considerable amount of money. 
Owing to the terms of his will legal difficulties arose 
as to its disposal, but I believe most of it ultimately 
went to his poor relations, who were many. 

When residing near Dublin my father saw a 
good deal of Whately, who had recently been 
appointed Archbishop of Dublin in succession to 
Magee; he admired and liked him, and was often 
amused by his eccentricities, one of which was a 
Avonderful way he had of throwing his legs about. 
The late Chief Justice Doherty told me that at the 
Privy Council he once put his hand into his pocket 
for his handkerchief ; but instead of it found there 
the foot of the archbishop, who happened that day 
to sit next him ! 

Judge Keogh told me that he was witness of the 
following scene : — the archbishop had a large New- 
foundland dog, of which he was very fond. He 
often took him into Stephen's Green, the large 
square opposite the palace, and there made him 
jump over a stick, fetch and carry, and do other 



82 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

tricks. One day, when thus engaged, he had just 
thrown a ball for the dog to fetch, when the follow- 
mg dialogue was heard between two women who 
were standing at the rails watching him : — 

" Ah, then, Mar}^, do you know Avho that is playin' 
wid the dog ? " 

Marxj. " Troth, I don't, Biddy ; but he's a fine- 
lookin' man, whoever he is." 

Biddy. " That's the archbishop, Mary." 

Mary. " Do you tell me so I God bless the inno- 
cent craythur ! Isn't he aisily amused ? " 

Biddy. " He's not our archbishop at all, Mary ; 
he is the Protestant archbishop." 

Mary. " Oh ! the b ould fool." 

It is well-known that he gave large sums in 
charity, but made it a boast that on principle he had 
never given a farthing to a beggar in the streets. 
He used to tell of a beggar who followed him ask- 
ing alms, to whom he said, " Go away ; I never give 
anything to a beggar in the streets." The beggar 
replied, " And where would your reverence wish me 
to Avait on you ? " 

At dinner parties, which he often gave to the 
clergy in his diocese, he was fond of propounding 
paradoxes, and as it was well known that he did not 
like any one to try to explain till he did so himself, 
it had become the custom not to hazard a remark, 
until it pleased his Grace to expound. At one of 



CAT— PUSS i 83 

the parties he said in a loud voice, so as to be heard 
by all his guests, " Is it not strange that there should 
be no connection between religion and morality?" 
The usual silence of awe and curiosity which pre- 
vailed was, to the consternation of all, broken by a 
still louder voice from the lower end of the table, 
exclaiming, " If your Grace means that there are 
heathen religions which have no connection with 
morality, it is a truism ; but if your Grace means 
that there is no connection between the Christian 
religion and morality, it is false." The offender was 
the Kev. John Jellett, a young clergyman, who had 
recently obtained a Fellowship in Dublin University, 
of which he was subsequently the distinguished Pro- 
vost. He told me that it was some years before he 
was again invited to the palace. 

Another time he asked, " Can any one tell me the 
vocative of cat % " 

" O cat ! " suggested a mild curate. 

" E'onsense," said the archbishop ; " did any one 
ever say, ' O cat ! come here ' \ Puss is the voca- 
tive." 

Again he asked, " Is there any one here who is 
interested in ornithology ? I ask because I was 
surprised, as I took a walk in the Phoenix Park 
to-day, to see a large number of fieldfares." 

"A very rare bird, your Grace," said the Eev. 
Mr. A. 



84 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

'•Not at all, Mr. A.," said the archbishop, — "a 
very common bird indeed; but I was sm^prised to 
see them so early in the winter." 

At another dinner party he asked, "Did any of 
you particularly observe the autumn tints this 
year?" 

" 1 did, your Grace," said Mr. B. ; "and most 
lovely they were." 

" On the contrary," said his Grace, " I thought 
them about the poorest I ever saw in my life." 

The last time I ever met Charles Lever (Harry 
Lorrequer) he told me that he and the archbishop, 
accompanied by two curates, X. and Z., were taking 
a walk together in the Park, at a time when Whately 
was much exercised about mushrooms, as to what 
species were edible and wholesome, and what sorts 
poisonous. As they walked along, the archbishop 
espied and picked up a dreadful looking brown and 
yellow fungus. "Now, Lever," he said, "many 
people might fancy that that is a poisonous fungus, 
while in reality no better or more wholesome mush- 
room grows." He thereupon broke off a bit of it, 
and handing it to Mr. X., said, " Try a bit, X., and 
tell us what you think of it." 

"A very nice fungus, indeed, your Grace, and 
rather sweetish," said the Rev. Mr. X. 

" Here's a bit for you, Z. ; let us have your opinion 
of it." 



MUSHROOMS 85 

" If it were nicely cooked, your Grace," said the 
Eev. Mr. Z., making a very wry face, " with a little 
salt and butter, it would, I am sure, be delicious." 

Whately then, handing a piece of it to Lever, 
said, '' Here, Lever, try a bit, and say what you 
think of it." 

"I thank your Grace, I'd rather not," said he. 
" 'Tis true I have a brother in the Church, but he 
is not in your Grace's diocese." 



86 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTEK YII 

The "Charleys'" life was not a pleasant one — Paddy O'Neill 
and his rhymes — " With my rigatooria" — Too far west to 
wash — On the coast at Kilkee — " Phaudrig Crohoore " — 
The Duhlin JSlacjazine. 

When I was in college a favourite amusement of 
the ingenious youth there was tormenting the old 
city watchmen, or '' Charleys " as they were called. 
They were the only guardians of the city by night ; 
there were none by day ; the metropolitan police 
did not then exist. These watchmen were generally 
old and often feeble. Many of them had in their 
earlier days been the domestic servants or retainers 
of members of the Corporation and of their friends. 
They wore long grey frieze coats, with large capes 
and low-crowned hats. Their only weapon, offen- 
sive and defensive, was what was called a crook, 
a long pole with a spear at the end and near the 
spear a crook for catching runaway offenders. They 
also carried a rattle, which, when whirled swiftly 
round, made a loud, harsh, and grating sound like 
the voice of a gigantic corncrake ; with this, when 
in trouble or in danger, they summoned other watch- 



CHARLEYS 87 

men to their assistance. To rob them of these 
was an exploit not to be despised. In the college 
rooms of friends of mine — some of them after- 
wards judges, others eminent divines — I have seen, 
hanging up as trophies, many a crook and many a 
rattle. 

The duties of these ancient guardians of the 
peace were, to patrol a certain beat, to quell riots, 
and to arrest and bring to the watch-house disor- 
derly characters. They had also, as they walked 
along their beat, to call out the hour and the state 
of the weather — " Past twelve o'clock, and a cloudy 
night ! " or " Past two o'clock, and a stormy morn- 
ing ! " as the case might be. They were not very 
attentive to their duties, and spent a great part of 
their time in sleeping snugly in their watch-boxes, 
which were much like soldiers' sentry-boxes, but 
more comfortable ; and how often, after a cosy doze, 
has a poor fellow woke up from his pleasant dreams 
to find his crook and rattle gone ! 

To catch a " Charley " fast asleep, and to over- 
turn his watch-box, face downward on the ground, 
was the grandest feat of all. When in this position 
his rattle could not be heard at any distance, and 
his assailants were wont to let him lie in that help- 
less state for a considerable time before they turned 
the box over on its side and let him out. Before he 
was on his legs they were far out of reach of capture. 



88 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

A cousin of mine, Brinsley H , a remarkably 

steady youth, who highly disapproved of these at- 
tacks on the old men, and, amongst his other good 
qualities, had, or thought he had, a mission to see 
that all men with whom he came in contact did 
their duty in their respective callings, was coming 
home late one night, and as he passed a watch-box 
was attracted by the sound of snoring. On looking 
in he saw the occupant in profound slumber. He 
roused him up at once, and said, " You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself, asleep in your box and neglect- 
ing your duty. If I hadn't wakened you, you would 
probably have lost your crook and your rattle. I 
shall certainly report you to the city magistrate 
to-morrow morning." " Bedad, then," said the 
Charley, " I'll report you first, ni}^ boy," and seizing 
him by the collar, he sprung his rattle, and held him 
till two other watchmen arrived. The three of them 
then conveyed him to the watch-house, where he 
was kept till ten o'clock next morning, when he was 
brought before Mr. Cole, one of the city magistrates. 
The watchman swore that the young gentleman had 
assaulted him, and tried to wrest his crook from 
him; the other men gave evidence of his violent 
conduct and abusive language as they led him to the 
watch-house. Mr. Cole asked him what he had to 

say for himself. H told the true story, exactly 

as it happened. The magistrate did not seem to 



''GARRY OWEN'' 89 

attach much credence to it; but, as he had been all 
night in a cell, dismissed him with a caution, saying, 
" I hope, young man, that this will be a warning to 
you, and that you will not again behave in such a 
w^ay ; and I promise you that if you are ever brought 
before me for an offence of this sort again, I shall 
deal severely with you. You may go now." I 
never saw a man so indignant as Brinsley was when 
he next day tokl me of his wrongs, and of the cruel 
injustice of Mr. Cole. From that day he never 
again roused a sleeping watchman, but acted on the 
wise principle of letting sleeping dogs lie. Though 
over eighty, he is hale and hearty still, and if this 
should meet his eye he will smile at the recollection 
of his early wrongs. 

After our return to Abington we occasionally 
spent a few weeks in summer at Ivilkee, in the 
county of Clare, now^ a much-frequented watering- 
place, then a wild village on the wildest coast of 
Ireland. A new steamboat, the Garry Oiven^ had 
then begun to ply between Limerick and Kilrush, 
a considerable town, about eight miles from Kilkee. 
On the voyage, which generally took about four 
hours — sometimes five or more if the w^eather was 
bad — the passengers were cheered by the music and 
songs of a famous character, one Paddy O'Neill, 
whose playing on the fiddle was only surpassed by 
his performances on the bagpipes. He was, more- 



90 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

over, a poet, and sang his own songs with vigour 
and expression to his own accompaniment. One of 
these songs was in praise of the new steamboat, and 
was in the style of the well-known song, " Garry 
Owen^'' which, as most Irishmen know, begins in 
this fashion — 

" Oh, Garry Owen is gone to wrack, 
Since Johnny O'Connell is gone to Cork, 
Though Paddy O'Brien jumped out of the dock, 

In spite of judge and jury. 
'Twas in Irishtown a battle begun, 
'Twas down the Mall he made them run, 
'Twas in Garry Owen we had the fun. 

On Easter Tuesday morning." 

I regret that I only remember the first verse of 
Paddy's song. It ran thus — 

" Oh, Garry Owen is no more a wrack ; 
Whoever says she is, is a noted ass ; 
She's an iron boat that flies like shot 

Against the strongest storum. 
On Kilrush Quay there's brave O'Brien, 
Of ancient line, without spot or slime; 
In double quick time, with graceful smile. 

He hands ashore the ladies." 

It will be seen that in these verses, as in most Irish 
songs, it is the vowels that make the rhyme. In 
the former, " wrack," " Cork," and " dock," and 
in the latter " wrack," " ass," and " shot," are made 



PADDY'S RHYMES 91 

to rhyme. In another of Paddy's songs, " A Parody 
on the famous rebel song, ' The Shan Van Yocht,' " 
the following rhymes appear : — 

" We'll have turkeys and roast beef, 
And we'll eat them very sweet, 
And then will take a sleep, 

Says the Shan Van Vocht." 

One summer evening my brother, who was a prime 
favourite of his, persuaded Paddy to drive across 
with him from Kilrush to Kilkee, and there they 
got up a dance in Mrs. Reade's lodge, where some 
of our family were sojourning at the time. I am 
sorry to say I was away somewhere and missed the 
fun. The dance music was supplied by Paddy's 
pipes and fiddle, and between the dances he sang 
some of his favourite songs. Next day my brother 
wrote some doggerel verses celebrating the dance 
and in imitation of the " Wedding of Ballyporean," 
a song then very popular in the south of Ireland. 
One verse ran — 

"But Paddy no longer his fiddle could twig, 
And the heat was so great that he pulled off his wig ; 
But Mary McCarthy being still for a jig, 
He screwed his old pipes till they roared like a pig. 
Oh ! they fell to their dancing once more, sir. 
Till their marrow bones all grew quite sore, sir. 
And they were obliged to give o'er, sir. 

At the dance in the lodge at Kilkee." 



92 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

A copy of the verses was presented to Paddy, 
who was highly delighted with them, and for years 
after sang them with much applause to the pas- 
sengers on the Garry Oiven. A few days after the 
dance he came to see my brother, and said he would 
be for ever obliged to him if he would alter one little 
word in the song. 

'' Of course I shall, with pleasure," said my 
brother. "What is the word ? " 

" Pig, your honour," said Paddy. " I'm sure 
your honour doesn't think my beautiful pipes 
sounded like a pig." 

" Oh," he answered, " you don't think I meant 
that they sounded like the grunt or squeak of 
a pig? I only meant that they were as loud as 
a pig." 

"As loud as a pig!" said Paddy, rather indig- 
nantly ; " as loud as a pig ! They wor a great deal 
louder ; but if your honour wouldn't mind changing 
that one word, I think it would be a great improve- 
ment, and would sound more natural like. This is 
the way I'd like it to go — 

' But Mary McCarthy being still for a jig, 
He screwed his old pipes till they roar'd like a nymph.' 

You see, your honour, the rhyme would be just as 
good, and I think it would be more like the rale 
tune of it." 



PADDY'S RHYMES 93 

The suggested improvement was at once made, to 
Paddy's great satisfaction. 

My brother told me that it was a favourite 
song of Paddy's that suggested to him the plot of 
-' Shamus O'Brien." Here is the song — 

" I am a young man that never yet was daunted ; 
I always had money, plenty, when I wanted ; 
Courting pretty fair maids was all the trade I'd folly : 
My life I would venture for you, my sporting Molly. 

" As I was going up the Galtee mountain 
I met with Captain Pepper ; his money he was counting. 
I first drew out my pistol, and then drew out my weapon : 
' Stand and deliver, for I am the receiver.' 

" When I got the money — it was a nice penny — 
I put it in my pocket, and brought it home to Molly. 
Molly, she told me she never would decave me; 
But the divil's in the women, for they never can be 'asy. 

" I went to her chamber for to take a slumber ; 
I went to her chamber — sure, I thought it little wonder. 
I took out my pistols, and laid them on the table ; 
She discharged off them both, and filled them up with water. 

" Early next morning, between six and seven, 
The guard they surrounded me, with brave Captain Ledwell. 
I ran to my pistols, but sure I was mistaken ; 
I discharged off the water, and a prisoner I was taken. 

"Johnny, oh, Johnny, you are a gallant soldier; 
You carry your firelock over your shoulder. 
When you meet those gentlemen you're sure to make them 

tremble ; 
Put your whistle to your mouth, and your party will assemble. 



94 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

"Johnny, oh, Johnny, I oftentimes told you, 
>V^ith your bright shining sword, how the guard would 

surround you; 
With your silver-mounted pistols deluding pretty fair maids, 
Which causes your head to lie under the raven. 

"I have two brothers 'listed in the army; 
One is in Killiney, the other in Killarney. 
If I had been them, I would be brave and charming. 
I'd rather have them here than you, my sporting Molly. 

" I stood in the hall while the turnkey was brawling ; 
I stood in the hall while the roll it was calling. 
'Twas with my metal bolt I knocked the sentry down ; 
I made my escape, adieu to Nenagh town. 

With my rigatooria, 

Right, foltheladdy ; with my rigatooria." 

The chorus, "With my rigatooria," etc., which I 
have appended only to the last verse, was sung by 
Paddy, with much expression, at the end of each 
verse, and, in his opinion, greatly added to the 
effect and beauty of the song. 

The cliffs at Kilkee, though not so high as some 
others on the west coast of Ireland, are amongst the 
boldest ; they overhang so much, that if from the 
highest of them. Look-oat Hill, you drop a stone 
over the edge, it falls well out into the sea. A 
stranger will hardly venture to look over the top of 
the cliff without kneeling or lying down ; while the 
natives will sit quite happily on the very edge, with 
their legs dangling over, as they fish with long 



A SHOWER-BATH AT KILKEE 95 

hand-lines for rock bream in the sea below. This, 
of course, they can do only on fine days ; in stormy 
weather the foam and spray of the great Atlantic 
waves are driven right over the top of the cliffs. 

In those days bathing on the strand in the Bay of 
Kilkee was carried out in a rather primitive style. 
A shower-bath was given by a man who climbed up 
at the back of the bath, carrying a bucket full of 
water, which he poured through a colander on the 
bather. A lady had taken her place in the bath, 
quite ready for the shower, when she heard a voice 
say to her, through the colander, " If you'd be 
plazed, my lady, to stand a little more to the west, 
I'd be able to give it to you better." 

In the south of Ireland they constantly speak of 
a men being gone west or east, but never north or 
south. For instance, if in Kenmare you happened to 
ask where a man had gone, they would say, " To 
Killarney," or " To Glangarriff," as the case might 
be, but never " North to Killarney," or " South to 
Glengarriff." How^ever, if he had gone to Sneem, 
or to Kilgarvin, they ^vould invariably say, "He's 
gone west to Sneem," or "East to Kilgarvin." 
"West" is also used to mean back or backwards. 
When at our fishing quarters in Kerry some years 
ago, a small peasant boy, Davy Cronin by name, 
unwashed and unkempt, with hands and face as 
black as a potatoe-pot, used to come and sit near us 



96 SEVEISfTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

on the bank of the river. My wife told him that 
unless he washed and made himself clean, she could 
not let him sit near our children. Next day he 
appeared with his face and hands much cleaner, but 
with the back of his neck as black as ever. "You 
are a good boy, Davy," said my wife to him, "to 
have Avashed your hands and face ; but when you 
were about it, why didn't you wash the back of your 
neck?" '"Twas too far west, my lady," was the 
answer. 

Another day, Jim Shea, who was then my fishing 
attendant, had a violent fit of coughing. " I'll give 
you something this evening," said my wife, "that 
will do your cold good." "'Tis not a cold I have at 
all, my lady," said he ; " 'tis a fly that's gone west in 
my stomach." 

This last word reminds me of a story, told me by 
a friend, of a little girl, a niece of his, who had been 
told by her mother that " stomach " was not a nice 
word, and that a young lady ought not to use it. 
Some time afterwards she had done something 
naughty, and was put into the corner, and told to 
stay there till she was good. As no sign of peni- 
tence appeared, the mother took the initiative, and 
said, "Well, Mary, are you good now?" "No," 
said she, " I'm not good. Stomach — stomach — 
stomach — stomach ! " 

Kilkee has been for many years a favourite sum- 



A WRECK AT KILKEE 



97 



mer resort of the people of Limerick and the neigh- 
bouring counties; I wonder it is not more often 
visited by tourists from other parts of the country, 
and from England. The scenery is magnificently 
wild, the cliffs, many hundred feet high, go sheer 
down to the sea, many of them even overhanging. 

ISTo vessel willingly approaches this iron-bound 
coast, and in the many times I have been there I do 
not think I have seen a sail half a dozen times, and 
when I did see one it was far away in the offing. 
One winter, on Christmas morning, the Intrinsic, 
having been disabled at sea, was driven by the storm 
under the highest of the cliffs, where she came to 
anchor, and there for hours she lay battered and 
buffeted by the waves. Crowds collected on the 
Look-out Hill which overhung the cliff. The coast- 
guard men were there, trying in vain, with rockets, 
to send a rope to the ship. Two or three times in 
the forenoon some of the crew were seen on deck ; 
two of them were washed overboard and lost ; after 
midday none were seen. From hour to hour the 
crowd increased. The priests from Kilkee came up 
and celebrated Mass on the hill, while the people 
knelt, in the storm and rain, praying for those in 
peril on the ship. The Mass had scarcely ended 
when a huge wave struck the vessel ; she heeled over 
and sunk. A gull was seen to pick up something 
from the sea where she went down, which, when 



98 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

flying liig'h overhead, it dropped amongst the crowd; 
it was a lady's glove. The captain's wife had per- 
ished with her husband and the crew. 

Years after this, in November, 1850, professional 
business brought me for a day to Kilkee. The 
greatest storm known for years had been raging for 
the two previous daj^s. It was a grand sight, those 
mighty Atlantic waves dashing and breaking against 
the rocks, and sending foam and spray flying high 
above the lofty cliffs. The day before I arrived, an 
emigrant ship, the Edmund^ had left Limerick for 
America, w^ith between tw^o and three hundred emi- 
grants on board, and on the following night had 
been caught in this great storm. A ledge, called the 
Dugarna Kocks, stretches a great part of the way 
across the mouth of the little Bay of Kilkee ; over 
this she was carried by the waves, and driven right 
up to the village, her bows high and dry on the 
rocks close to the coastguard station. The greater 
number of the passengers were saved,^but about a 
hundred of them were still on board when the vessel 
went to pieces ; they were drowned, and Avith them 
the ship's carpenter, a brave fellow, who had risked 
his life again and again in saving some of the emi- 
grants, and had gone on board once more to rescue 
others. I saw lying side by side, on a sail spread on 
the beach, many of the poor drowned ones, most of 
them young women and children ; others were con- 



THE ^'PURCELL PAPERS'' 99 

stantiy being washed ashore and were laid with 
those already there. Had I not seen it I would not 
have believed that such a large vessel could have so 
completely broken up in so short a time ; all that 
was left of her were fragments scattered on the rocks 
and beach. That night I had a long and weary 
journey from Kilkee to Limerick, over sixty miles, 
on an outside car in storm and rain, and could think 
of nothing all through the night but the terrible 
scene I had witnessed, and ever before me were the 
poor sad faces I had seen upon the sail. 

In 1839 my brother became connected with the 
Dublin University Magazine^ of which he was subse- 
quently the proprietor ; to it he contributed the 
many interesting and amusing Irish stories, after- 
wards collected in the Purcell Papers. Some of 
them I used occasionally to recite, and wishing to have 
one in verse, I asked him to write one for me. He 
said he did not know what subject I would like. I 
said, " Give me an Irish Young Lochinvar," and in a 
few days he sent me "Phaudrig Crohoore "(" Patrick 
Connor;" or, more correctly, "Patrick the Son of 
Connor "). Although it has appeared in the Purcell 
Papers^ my readers may not object to see it here. 

PHAUDRIG CROHOORE 

"Oh ! Phaudrig Crohoore was the broth of a boy, 
And he stood six foot eight ; 
And his arm was as round as another man's thigh — 
'Tis Phaudrig was great. 



)o SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIFE 

And his hair was as black as the shadows of night — 

And hung over the scars left by many a fight ; 

And his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud, 

And his eye like the lightning from under the cloud. 

And all the girls liked him, for he could spake civil, 

And sweet when he liked it, for he was the divil. 

And there wasn't a girl from thirty-five under, 

Divil a matter how cross, but he could come round her. 

But of all the sweet girls that smiled on him but one 

Was the girl of his heart, and he loved her alone ; 

For warm as the sun, as the rock firm and sure, 

Was the love of the heart of Phaudrig Crohoore. 

And he'd die for one smile from his Kathleen O'Brien, 

For his love, like his hatred, was strong as the lion. 

But Michael O'Hanlon loved Kathleen as well 

As he hated Crohoore, an' that same was like hell. 

But O'Brien liked him, for they w^ere the same parties, 

The O'Briens, O'Hanlons, and Murphys, and Cartys; 

And they all went together and hated Crohoore, 

For it's many's the batin' he gave them before ; 

And O'Hanlon made up to O'Brien, an' says he, 

' I'll marry your daughter, if you'll give her to me.' 

And the match was made up, and when Shrovetide came on. 

The company assembled three hundred, if one. 

There was all the O'Hanlons, an' Murphys, an' Cartys, 

An' the young boys an' girls of all of them parties. 

The O'Briens, of coorse, gathered strong on that day, 

An' the pipers an' fiddlers were tearin' away; 

There was roarin', an' jumpin', an' jiggin', an' flingin'. 

An' jokin', an' blessin', an' kissin', an' singin'; 

An' they w^or all laughin' — why not to be sure? — 

How O'Hanlon come inside of Phaudrig Crohoore; 

An' they talked an' they laughed the length of the table, 

'Atin' an' drinkiu' all while they were able ; 



'' PHAUDRIG CROHOORE'' loi 

An' with pipiii' an' fiddlin', and roarin' like thunder, 

Your head you'd think fairly was splittin' asunder. 

An' the priest called out, ' Silence, ye blackguards, agin,' 

An' he took up his prayer-book, just goin' to begin. 

An' they all held their tongues from their funnin' and bawlin', 

So silent you'd notice the smallest pin fallin'. 

An' the priest was just beginnin' to read, when the door 

Sprang back to the wall, and in walked Crohoore. 

Oh ! Phaudrig Crohoore was the broth of a boy. 

And he stood six foot eight ; 
And his arm was as round as another man's thigh — 

'Tis Phaudrig was great. 
And he walked slowly up, watched by many a bright eye, 
* As a black cloud moves on through the stars of the sky ; 
And none strove to stop him, for Phaudrig was great, 
Till he stood, all alone, just opposite the sate 
Where O'Hanlon and Kathleen, his beautiful bride, 
Were sittin' so illigant out side by side. 
An' he gave her one look that her heart almost broke. 
An' he turned to O'Brien, her father, and spoke ; 
An' his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud, 
An' his eye shone like lightning from under the cloud. 

" ' 1 didn't come here like a tame, crawlin' mouse. 
But I stand like a man in my enemies' house. 
In the field, on the road, Phaudrig never knew fear 
Of his foemen, and God knows he scorns it here ; 
So lave me at aise, for three minutes or four. 
To spake to the girl Pll never see more.' 
And to Kathleen he turned, and his voice changed its tone, 
For he thought of the days when he called her his own, 
An' his eye blazed like lightnin' from under the cloud 
On his false-hearted girl, reproachful and proud. 
An' says he, ' Kathleen bawn, is it true what I hear, 
That you marry of your free choice, without threat or fear? 



I02 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

If so, spake the word, an' I'll turn and depart, 
Cheated once, and once only, by woman's false heart.' 

" Oh ! sorrow and love made the poor girl dumb, 
And she tried hard to spake, but the words wouldn't come; 
For the sound of his voice, as he stood there fornint her, 
Went cold on her heart, as the night wind in winter ; 
And the tears in her blue eyes stood tremblin' to flow, 
And pale was her cheek, as the moonshine on snow. 

" Then the heart of bold Phaudrig swelled high in its place, 
For he knew, by one look in that beautiful face. 
That, though strangers and f oemen their pledged hands might 

sever, 
Her true heart was his, and his only, for ever. 
And he lifted his voice like the eagle's hoarse call, 
And says Phaudrig, ' She's mine still, in spite of you all ! ' 
Then up jumped O'Hanlon — an' a tall boy was he — 
And he looked on bold Phaudrig as fierce as could be • 
An' says he, ' By the holy, before you go out, 
Bold Phaudrig Crohoore, you must fight for a bout. 
Then Phaudrig made answer, 'I'll do my endeavour; ' 
And with one blow he stretched bold O'Hanlon for ever. 
In his arms he took Kathleen, and stepped to the door. 
And he leaped on his horse, and flung her before. 
An' they all were so bothered that not a man stirred 
Till the galloping hoofs on the pavement were heard ; 
Then up they all started, like bees in the swarm, 
An' they riz a great shout, like the burst of a storm ; 
An' they roared, an' they ran, an' they shouted galore ; 
But Kathleen and Phaudrig they never saw more. 

" But them days are gone by, and he is no more, 
Au' the green grass is growin' o'er Phaudrig Crohoore; 



^^PHAUDRIG CROHOORE'' 103 

For he couldn't be aisy or quiet at all ; 

As he lived a brave boy, he resolved so to fall. 

An' he took a good pike, for Phaudrig was great, 

And he fought, and he died in the year ninety-eight ; 

An' the day that Crohoore in the green field was killed, 

A strong boy was stretched, and a strong heart was stilled." 



When " Phaudrig Crohoore " appeared in the Duh- 
lin University Magazine^ my brother, under his nom 
de plume ^ wrote a preface to it, in which he said 
that it had been composed by a poor Irish minstrel, 
Michael Finley, who could neither read nor write, 
but used to recite it, with others of his songs and 
ballads, at fairs and markets. 

Many years afterwards, one evening, after I 
had recited it at Lord Spencer's, who was then 
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, the late primate, Beres- 
ford, said to Lady Spencer, who was sitting near me, 
" I can tell you a curious fact. Lady Spencer ; 
that poem was composed by a poor Irish peasant, 
one Michael Finley, w^ho could neither read nor 
write." Then turning to me, " Were you aware of 
that, Mr. Le Fanu ? " "I was, your Grace," said I ; 
" and you may be surprised to hear that I knew the 
Michael Finley who wrote the ballad intimately — 
he was, in fact, my brother. But in one particular 
your Grace is mistaken ; he could read and write a 
little." The primate took it very well, and was 
much amused. 



104 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Some of my brother's earliest stories in the Uni- 
versity Magazine abound in fun about courtship and 
matrimony. In one he makes the narrator, an Irish 
peasant, thus describe the condition of Billy Malow- 
ney when courting pretty Molly Donovan. " Well, 
now, he was raly stupid wid love ; there wasn't a 
bit of fun left in him. He was good for nothing 
on earth but sittin' under bushes smokin' tobaccy 
and sighing, till ^^ou'd wonder where he got the 
Avind for it all. JS'ow you might as well be per- 
suadin' the birds ao-ain' fivino^, or strivin' to coax 
the stars out of the sky into your hat, as to be talk- 
ing common sense to them that's fairly bothered and 
burstin' wid love. There is nothing like it. The 
toothache and colic together would compose you 
better for an argument ; it leaves you fit for nothing 
but nonsinse. It's stronger than whisky, for one 
good drop of it will make you drunk for a year, and 
sick, begorra, for ten ; it's stronger than the sea, for 
it will carry you .round the world, and never let you 
sink in sunshine or in storm ; and begorra it's stronger 
than Death itself, for it's not afear'd of him, but 
dares him in every shape. But lovers does have 
their quarrels sometimes ; and, begorra, when they 
do, you'd almost think they hated one another like 
man and wife." 

Another time he makes a man warn his son 
against matrimony, telling him that "marriage is 



COURTSHIP 



105 



like the smallpox. A man may have it mildly, but 
he generally carries the marks of it with him to his 
grave." 

In another story he puts into the mouth of an 
Irish farmer, addressing his son, the following cyni- 
cal view of life, the last part of which very consid- 
erably shocked the Dean : — 

" You see, my boy, a man's life naturally divides 
itself into three distinct periods. The first is that 
in which he is plannin' and conthrivin' all sorts of 
villainy and rascality; that is the period of youth 
and innocence. The second is that in which he is 
puttin' into practice the villainy and rascality he 
contrived before; that is the prime of life or the 
flower of manhood. The third and last period is 
that in which he is makin' his soul and preparin' 
for another world ; that is the period of dotage." 



io6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTER YIII 

Peasant life after the famine of 1847 — An aged goose — Super- 
stitions and Irish peculiarities — The worship of Baal — 
The Blarney stone — The wren boys — The direful " Wur- 
rum " — A remedy for the chin cough, and doctors' remedies. 

Until after the famine of 1847 there was but 
little change in the mode of life of the people, or 
in the wages of workmen. When we Avent to the 
south the pay of labourers was sevenpence a day; 
the farmers accused my father of spoiling the market 
by giving his men ninepence. The peasants, except 
the few who had land enough to keep a cow, lived 
altogether on potatoes, with which on rare occasions 
they had a salt herring or two. Milk they could not 
get, for when — which was very seldom indeed — 
they could have afforded to buy it the farmers would 
not sell it, as they wanted it to feed their calves. 
The potatoes were boiled in a huge iron pot, from 
which they were thrown into a big open-work wicker 
basket, shaped like the bowl of a spoon; this was 
placed over another large pot or over a trough, till 
the water was thoroughly drained off ; the potatoes 
were then turned out on the middle of the table in 



PIGS' FEET 107 

a heap. There was sometmies a coarse tablecloth, 
more often none. There were no knives or forks, 
nor any plates, but one on which the herring, if one 
was there, lay. From time to time each one of the 
family nipped with finger and thmnb a little bit of 
the herring, to give a flavour to his "pratee." Meat 
they never tasted except on Christmas Day and 
Easter Sunday ; but all, no matter how poor, man- 
aged to have a bit of meat of some sort on these 
days. 

As I drove from Limerick one Christmas Eve an 
elderly woman with a small bundle in her hand ran 
after the car, holding on to the back of it. I got 
into conversation with her, and after some other 
talk I asked her what she had in her bundle. 

"'Tis some cus-a-muck (pigs' feet) I have, your 
honour, for Christmas." After a pause she added, 
" I got them for the price of a goose I sold in Lim- 
erick to-day." 

" Wouldn't the goose," said I, " have been better 
for dinner than the pigs' feet ? " 

" Av course it would, your honour, if we could ate 
her." 

'' Why couldn't you ? " said I. 

" She was too ould and tough, your honour. I'm 
married twenty-five years ago last Shrove, and she 
was an ould goose then ; and I'd never have sold her, 
only she was stoppin' of lay in' by rason of her ould 



io8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

age." She then began to laugh heartily, and said, 
" It's what I'm laughing at, your honour, thinking 
of them that bought her, how they'll be breakin' the 
back of their heads against the wall to-morrow, 
strivin' with their teeth to pull the mate off her ould 
bones ! " 

It would take volumes to tell of all the old cus- 
toms and superstitions of the peasantry. Many of 
them have died out, and others are rapidly dying. 
Here I shall only mention a few of them. 

On St. John's Eve, the 23rd of June, still may be 
seen a few bonfires on the mountains ; in the old 
days they blazed on every hill and in every farm. 
No field was fruitful into which a burning brand 
had not been thrown, no horse or cow which had 
not been touched by fire on that night. 

This custom had its origin in pre-Christian times, 
as the name of the fires, Baal thinna (Baal's fires) 
shows. It is more than a hundred years since the 
late Eev. Donald Macqueen, of Kilmuir, in the Isle 
of Skye, visited Ireland ; in the account of his tour, 
he says that " The Irish have ever been worshippers 
of fire and of Baal, and are so to this day. The 
chief festival in honour of the sun and fire is upon 
the 21st of June, when the sun arrives at the sum- 
mer solstice, or rather begins its retrogade motion." 
Then follows the description of the Baal fires which 
he saw. 



BAAL'S FIRES 109 

'' I was so fortunate in the summer of 1Y82 as to 
have my curiosity gratified. At the house where I 
was entertained it was told me that we should see at 
midnight the most singular sight in Ireland, which 
was the lighting of fires in honour of the sun. 
Accordingly, exactly at midnight, the fires began to 
appear; and going up to the leads of the house, 
which had a widely extended view, I saw, on a 
radius of thirty miles, all round the fires burning on 
every eminence which the country afforded. I had 
a further satisfaction of learning, from undoubted 
authority, that the people danced round the fires, 
and at the close went through these fires, and made 
their sons and daughters, together with their cattle, 
pass through the fire, and the whole was concluded 
with religious solemnity." 

There is another Irish phrase (" Baal-o-yerib ! " ) 
connected with the worship of Baal. But before I 
go further I had better confess that I am not an 
Irish scholar ; and although I know the meaning of 
a great man}^ Irish words, I do not know how to 
spell one of them. Any I give I have spelt phoneti- 
cally, as nearly as I can to the way I heard them 
spoken by the peasantry. I believe this will give a 
better idea how they sound when spoken than if I 
had been able to write them correctly ; for any Irish 
words which I have happened to see, written by 
those who know the language, do not bear the 



110 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

slightest resemblance to the same words when 
spoken. 

But to return to our " Baal-o-yerib ! " — it was 
and, where Irish is spoken, still is the salutation 
addressed by any one passing by to men working in 
a field, or, on entering a house, to the inmates, who 
reply, " Dhe-as-maera-guth ! " Kone of the peas- 
antry whom I have asked could give me a transla- 
tion of this salutation ; they said they thought it 
meant " God bless the work ! " or " God save all 
here ! " They all knew what the reply means. The 
late Rev. Patrick Fitzgerald, a good Irish scholar, 
told me that " Baal-o-yerib ! " means " Baal, or God, 
be with you ! " and was originally used when there 
were worshippers of Baal still in Ireland. The reply 
of a Christian, " Dhe-as-maera-guth ! " means " God 
and Mary be with you!" In recent times, where 
Irish has died out, the salutation is changed to " God 
bless the work!" or "God save all here!" as the 
case may be, to which the reply is, " God save you 
kindly ! " 

I have seen it told in an Irish story — one of Mrs. 
S. C. Hall's, I think — that a peasant, on entering a 
house, says, " God bless all here, barrin' the dog and 
the cat 1 " This is, I believe, a complete mistake. I 
have never heard it said, nor have I met any one 
who has. It is, however, founded on the fact that 
the peasantry wiU never say, " God bless it ! "to a 



''GOD BLESS IT!'' in 

dog or cat, though they do say it to everything else, 
animate or inanimate. Of a child they would say, 
" That's a nice child ; God bless it ! " of a pig, 
" That's a nate pig ; God bless it ! " or of a gun, 
" That's a beautiful piece ; God bless it ! " but of a 
dog or cat only " That's a great dog," or " That's a 
purty cat," but never " God bless it ! " indeed, they 
Avould think it profane in the highest degree to say 
so. An English friend who was staying with us, 
but did not know of this exception, wishing to make 
himself agreeable to a countryman who showed him 
a dog, said, " That's a fine dog ; God bless him ! " I 
shall never forget the expression of that peasant's 
face. He said nothing, but devoutly crossed himself. 

I have seen in the same or some other story a 
similar mistake, where a peasant is made to say to 
some one who sneezes, " God bless you, barrin' it's 
the snuff ! " They would never sa,y so. If one 
sneezes in a natural w^ay, they always say, " God 
bless you ! " but if the sneeze is caused by snuff, or 
any other artificial means, they never bless the 
sneezer. 

When speaking of the Baal fires, I should have 
said that fire is a great protection against fairies. 
Whenever churning is going on, a small bit of burn- 
ing turf is put under the churn to prevent the 
abstraction of the butter by the " good people." 

Another custom is, that any one coming into a 



112 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

house where churning is going on must take the 
churn-dash and churn for a few seconds. His doing 
this prevents a person with an evil eye, should any 
such come in, charming away the butter or other- 
wise spoiling the churning. 

The belief in magpies still prevails. It is lucky 
to see two, unlucky to see one. The ill results from 
seeing only one can be mitigated, sometimes alto- 
gether escaped, by taking off your hat and bowing 
tO' the bird. This belief and custom is not very old 
in Ireland, as it is not so very long since the magpie 
was first introduced here. Holinshed, when speak- 
ing of birds in Ireland, says, " They also lacke the 
bird called the pie." 

There are, I fear, few who still believe that after a 
dip in the Shannon the bather will never blush again. 

The Blarney stone too, I am afraid, is going out 
of date. In former days, whoever kissed it was at 
once endowed with the gift of the blarney, as the 
old song, " The Groves of Blarney," tells us. 

" 'Tis there's the stone that whoever kisses 
He never misses to grow eloquent ; 
'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, 
Or become a member of Parliament. 

" A noble spouter he'll sure turn out, or 
An out and outer to be let alone ; 
Don't try to hinder him, or to bewilder him, 
For he is a pilgrim from the Blarney stone." 



THE BLARNEY STONE 113 

But many, especially ladies, who climbed to the to}) 
of the old castle for the express purpose of kissing 
the Blarney stone, found that none of these good 
results followed. But why? Their guide, to save 
himself and them trouble, had made them kiss the 
wrong stone — a little stone in the corner of the 
tower, which has no virtue whatever. 

The real stone, which I am proud to say I kissed 
many a year ago, is about four feet below the 
parapet on the outside of the castle. To kiss it, you 
must be held by the legs, head downwards, over the 
battlements. 

The " wren boys," on Saint Ste23hen's Day, still 
drag on a poor and miserable existence. Half a 
dozen ragged urchins, carrying a little bit of holly, 
with a wren, or more often some other little dead 
bird, tied to it, come to the hall door begging for 
halfpence. In former days, in the south, one of the 
Christmas amusements, which we looked forward to 
with pleasure, was the visit of the wren boys, or 
"mummers," as they sometimes called themselves. 
There were generally twelve or fourteen of them, 
fine strapping young fellows, between eighteen and 
five and twenty years of age ; they were dressed in 
their Sunday's best, with many-coloured ribbons in 
their hats, and scarfs across their breasts. One of 
them carried the holly bush, also adorned with 
ribbons, on top of which was the wren. Another 



114 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

was dressed up as the aumadhawn^ or fool ; his 
coat was a sack, with holes in it for his head, legs, 
and arms to come through ; his head-dress was a 
hare-skin, and on his face he wore a hideous mask ; 
in his hand he carried a stick with a bladder tied to 
the end of it. His duty was to keep order. This he 
did by whacking all offenders with this Aveapon. 
The party was accompanied by a piper or a fiddler, 
often by both ; they were followed by a crowd of 
country boys and girls, whom the aumadha\yn kept 
at a respectful distance. Thus equipped and accom- 
panied, they visited the houses of the gentry and 
strong farmers. 

The entertainment began by the singing of the 
wren song, of which I remember only the following 
verse : — 

" The wren, the wren, the king of all birds. 
Saint Stephen's Day, was caught in the furze ; 
Although he is little, his family's great, 
Rise up, lords and ladies, and give us a treat." 

Then came the dancing of merry jigs and reels. 
There was no lack of partners for the boys ; amongst 
them were the young ladies of the house and the 
servant-maids, not to mention the pretty girls in 
the crowd that followed them. When they had had 
refreshments, or a present of money wherewith to 
get them, off they went, with three hearty cheers 
for the master and mistress of the house. 



WURRUMS 115 

The dreadful beast, the " wurrum," half fish, half 
dragon, still survives in many a mountain lake — 
seldom seen indeed, but often heard. Near our 
fishing quarters in Kerry there are two such lakes ; 
one, the beautiful little lake at the head of the 
Black water river, called Lough Brin, from Brin, or 
Bran, as he is now called, the direful wurrum 
which inhabits it. The man who minds the boat 
there, speaks with awe of Bran ; he tells me he has 
never seen him, and hopes he never may, but has 
often heard him roaring on a stormy night. On 
being questioned as to what the noise was like, he 
said it was like the roaring of a young bull. To 
my suggestion that perhaps " it might have been a 
young bull," he made no re])ly, but the expression 
of his face showed what he thought of the levity, or 
perhaps even the irreverence, of the remark. 

Some miles further on, between Lough Brin and 
Glencar, there is another lake, from which two 
years ago a boy, while bathing, was driven and 
chased by the dreadful wurrum which dwells in 
it. It bit him on the back, and hunted him all the 
way home, where he arrived naked and bleeding : 
he had not waited even to take up his clothes. On 
being asked what the beast was like, he said, " 'Twas 
something like the form of a donkey." What may 
have really happened to the boy we have never 
been able to discover. 



ii6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

On the opposite side of Kenmare Bay is still to 
be seen one of these wurrunis of enormous size. 
It was slain by St. Patrick, and turned into stone, 
and, as a worm-like ledge of rock, now winds along 
the side of Coom na Peastha ("the Yalley of the 
Worm"). St. Patrick, as is well known, banished 
all venomous and poisonous creatures from Ireland. 
His feats in this direction are celebrated in the well- 
known song in his praise, in the following verses : — 

" Nine hundred thousand vipers blue 
He charmed with sweet discourses, 
And dined on them at Killaloe 
In soups and second courses. 
When blind worms, crawling through the grass, 
Disgusted all the nation, 
He gave them a rise 
That opened their eyes 
To a sense of their situation. 

" There's not a mile in Ireland's isle 
Where dirty vermin musters 
But there he put his neat fore-foot, 
And murdered them in clusters. 
The frogs went hop, 
The toads went flop, 
Splash, dash into the water ; 

The snakes committed suicide 
To save themselves from slaughter. 

" Oh success attend Saint Patrick's fist, 
For he's the saint so clever ; 
He gave the snakes and toads a twist, 
And bothered them for ever." 



TOO WILD FOR ST. PATRICK 117 

]^ot\vithstanding all this, there still exists a species 
of toad (the natchet, I think) in the barony of Iver- 
agh, in the west of Kerry. I was fishing in the 
Carah river the first time I saw them. I said to 
two countrymen, who were standing by, " How was 
it that these toads escaped Saint Patrick ? " "Well, 
now, yer honour," said one of them, " It's Avhat I'm 
tould that wlien Saint Patrick was down in these 
parts he went up the Reeks, and when he seen what 
a wild and dissolute place Iveragh was, he wouldn't 
go any further; and that's the rason them things 
does be here still." "Well now, yer honour," said 
the other fellow, " I wouldn't altogether give into 
that, for av coorse the saint was, many's the time, 
in worse places than Iveragh. It's what I hear, yer 
honour, that it was a lady that sent them from Eng- 
land in a letter fifty or sixty years ago." 

Possibly they may have been imported. I know 
that many attempts have been made to introduce 
snakes and vipers into Ireland — happily, so far, 
unsuccessfully. 

Of the effect of the soil of Ireland on toads and 
snakes, Ilolinshed, in his '^ Chronicles," gives the 
following anecdotes : — 

" Certeine merchants afiirme, that when they had 
unladen their ships, in Ireland, they found, by hap, 
some toads under their balast. And they had no 
sooner cast them on the shore, than they would puffe 



ii8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

and swell unmeasurablie, and shortlie after turning 
up their bellies, they would burst in sunder. 

" And not onlie the earth and dust of Ireland, but 
also the verie thongs of Irish leather have the verie 
same force and virtue. I have seene it, saith Cam- 
brensis, experimented, that a toad being incompassed 
with a thong of Irish leather, and creeping thither- 
ward, indevoring to have skipt over it, suddenlie 
reculed backe, as though it had beene rapt in the 
head ; whereupon it began to sprall to the other 
side. But at length perceiving that the thong did 
embaie it of all parts, it began to thirle, and as it 
were to dig the earth, where finding an hole, it 
slunke aAvaie in the presence of sundrie persons. 

"It happened also in my time, saith Giraldus 
Cambrensis, that in the north of England a knot 
of 3^ongkers tooke a nap in the fields : as one of them 
laie snorting with his mouth gaping, as though he 
would have caught flies, it happened that a snake 
or adder slipt into his mouth, and glided down into 
his bellie, where harboring itself e, it began to roame 
up and downe, and to feede on the 3'oong man his 
entrals. The patient being sore distracted and 
above measure tormented with the biting pangs of 
this greedie ghest, incessantlie praied to God, that 
if it stood Avith His gratious will, either wholie to 
bereave him of his life, or else of his unspeakable 
mercie to ease him of his paine. The worme would 



THE SNAKE CURE 119 

never ceasse from gnawing the patient his carcasse, 
but when he had taken his repast, and his meat was 
no sooner digested, than it would give a fresh onset 
in boring his guts. Diverse remidies were sought, 
and medicins, pilgrimages to saints, but all could not 
prevaile. Being at length schooled by the grave 
advice of some sage and expert father, that willed 
him to make his speedie repair to Ireland, would 
tract no time, but busked himselfe over sea and 
arrived in Ireland. He did no sooner drinke of the 
water of that Hand, and taken of the vittels of Ire- 
land, but he forthwith kilcl the snake, and so being 
lustie and livlie, he returned into England." Holin- 
shed goes on to say, "There be some that move 
question, whether the want of venemous wormes in 
Ireland be to be imputed to the propertie of the 
soile, or to be ascribed to the praiers of Saint Pat- 
rike, who converted that Hand. The greater part 
father it on Saint Patrike, especiallie such as write 
his life as well apart, as in the legend of Irish 
saints." 

There are still in Ireland two small creatures 
which the saint might as well have abolished w^hen 
his hand was in, as they are, or certainly were in 
my early days, held in great abhorrence by the 
peasantry in the south of Ireland. One is a small 
brown lizard, which is occasionally found under 
stones ; the other is a long, uglj^-looking beetle, 



I20 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

black and shining, with a forceps in his tail, which, 
when he is disturbed, he turns up over his back. 
A remarkably disagreeable-looking beast he is. 
The belief was that the little lizard, or ardliccher 
(as they called it in Irish), if you happened to fall 
asleep in a field or a wood, would watch its oppor- 
tunity, slip into your mouth, and glide down into 
your inside, where it would feed and fatten till you 
pined away and died. I do not think they had any 
English name for the other beast, which they called 
a darraghdeoul (red devil). The tradition as to 
him was that he had, in some form or way, guided 
or accompanied Judas Iscariot to the garden of 
Gethsemane, the night of our Lord's betrayal. I 
have often seen a country boy kill one of them. 
The way he did it was always the same ; he held 
it on the thumb-nail of his left hand and crushed 
it with the thumb-nail of his right hand. He 
believed that if he killed it so, saying at the same 
time a " Pater " or an " Ave," he was forgiven 
seven deadly sins ; but unless the execution was 
carried out in strict conformity with the established 
rules no good result followed. 

In some places pilgrimages are still made to 
holy lakes and wells of well-known healing virtues ; 
and although the fairy doctors of whom I have 
spoken are now almost unknown, there still prevail, 
or lately did prevail, some peculiar ways of curing 



AN ASS FOR THE CHIN COUGH 121 

sickness. Amongst them were two modes of deal- 
ing with the whooping-cough, or " chin cough," as 
the peasantry call it. One is this: if any one 
should happen to pass by riding a piebald horse the 
father or mother of the whooper runs after him, 
crying out, " You that rides the piebald horse, 
what's good for the chin cough ? " Whatever the 
rider prescribes, no matter how absurd, is procured 
and administered to the patient. This remedy, 
though the surest in its results, cannot always be 
secured, as it requires the presence of a piebald 
horse, and a man riding it. The other, though not 
quite so much to be depended on, is always at hand. 
It is to pass the child three times over and under a 
donkey, certain prayers being said during the opera- 
tion. But there are donkeys and donkeys. Some 
are all but useless, while others are nearly as good 
as the piebald horse. I remember one, forty years 
ago, in Cork, famous for his powers. He was the 
property of one IS'ed Sullivan, who supported him- 
self and a large family on what this remarkable 
donkey earned for him. T^ed wandered through the 
city and surrounding country day after day with his 
ass, crying out, ^' Will any one come under my ass 
for the chin cough ? " 

Illnesses are also treated by remedies of com- 
paratively recent date. Some five and forty years 
ago a temperance medal was found to be a specific 



122 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

for every ailment ; not all medals, however, but 
only those which had been blest and given by 
Father Mathew, the great apostle of temperance. 
Rubbing with one of these at once i^elieved rheu- 
matic pains. I have known one to be tied on the 
back of a man's hand to cure a boil, and I have seen 
ophthalmia treated by hanging two of these medals 
over a girl's eyes. 

More recently still. Knock Chapel, in the county 
of Mayo, has been famous for its healing powers ; 
but it, like the doctor, sometimes has its failures. 
Of one of these I Avas told by a Eoman Catholic 

gentleman, my friend Mr. D , a large employer 

of labour. One of his overseers had for years 
suffered much from his liver. Having consulted 
many doctors and spent much money on them, and 
being nothing better, he asked his employer to allow 
him to go for a few days to Knock to try what it 

could do for him. On his return Mr. D said to 

him — 

" Well, James, I hope you are better ? " 

James. " Indeed, I'm no better, thank you, sir ; 
it's what I think I'm rather w^orse." 

Mr. D. " But did you go through all the forms 
required there ? " 

James. " Indeed I did, sir, and took all the 
rounds and said all the prayers, but it was all of 
no use ; not but what it's a grand place. It would 



A DOCTOR'S EPITAPH 123 

astonish you to see all the sticks and crutches 
hanging up there, left behind by poor cripples that 

went home cured. It's my opinion, Mr. D , that 

for rheumatism and the like of that it's a grand 
place entirely ; but as for the liver, it's not worth 
a d ." 

Some men are sceptical about the power of medals 
and of Knock as others are as to that of doctors. 
Of the latter, was a peasant lad, Avho, when asked 
by a gentleman how his father was, replied — 

" Ah, my poor father died last Wednesday, your 
honour." 

"I'm sorry indeed to hear it," said the other. 
" It must have been very sudden. What doctor 
attended him? " 

" Ah, sir," said the boy, " my poor father wouldn't 
have a doctor; he always used to say he'd like to 
die a natural death." 

Of such, too, was my friend B , who was one 

of a committee of subscribers to a fund for a monu- 
ment to be erected in Mount Jerome Cemetery to 
the memory of a celebrated Dublin physician. A 
discussion arose as to the inscription. My friend rec- 
ommended that it should be the same as that to Sir 
Christopher Wren in St. Paul's — " Si monumentum 
requiris circumspice." 

Doctor E'edlej^, physician to the Dublin Metro- 
politan Police, told me lie heard a voice from the 



124 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

crowd call out, '' Three cheers for Doctor Nedley ! 
He killed more policemen than ever the . Fenians 
did!" 

But if some men are sceptical, others place an 
implicit faith in the doctor's prescriptions; and of 
these was a man in Limerick who went to the under- 
taker to order a coffin for Pat Connell. 

"Dear me," said the undertaker, "is poor Pat 
dead?" 

"No, he's not dead yet," answered the other; 
" but he'll die to-night, for the doctor says he can't 
live till morning, and he knows what he gave him." 



''REMEMBER MITCHELSTOWN'' 125 



CHAPTEE IX 

Mitchelstown remembered — A Night on the Galtees — The 
weird horse — Killing, or mnrder? — The ballad of " Shamus 
O'Brien " — A letter from Samuel Lover. 

In a very hot July five and fifty years ago, a walk- 
ing party left my father's house to visit some places 
of note in the counties of Limerick, Cork, and Tip- 
perary. Our party consisted of John Walsh, after- 
wards Master of the Kolls in Ireland ; John Jellett, 
the late Provost of Trinity College, Dublin ; Gaetano 
Egedi, an Italian friend of ours; my brother, and 
myself. The weather being unusually warm, our 
plan was to start each day late in the afternoon, 
arriving at our destination about midnight, and 
visiting next day whatever was of interest in the 
neighbourhood. Towards the end of our tour we 
arrived late one night at Mitchelstown, famous for 
its caves, and now also of sacred political memory. 
Next morning we set off, immediately after break- 
fast, for the caves, which are about six miles from 
the town, near the village of Ballyporeen, celebrated 
in the old Irish song, " The Wedding of Ballypo- 
reen," in which the wedding feast is thus described — 



126 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

"There was bacon and greens, but the turkey was spoiled ; 
Potatoes dressed every way, roasted and boiled ; 
Ked herrings, plum-pudding — the priest got a snipe; 
Cobladdj^ stiff dumpling, and cow-heel and tripe. 
Oh ! they ate till they could ate no more, sir ; 
Then the whisky came pouring galore, sir. 
How Terence ]\IcManus did roar, sir, 
At the wedding of Ballyporeen ! " 

The caves are in the cavernous limestone forma- 
tion, and not unlike those of Derbyshire. We 
entered by a sort of ladder, which, after a descent 
of about thirty feet, leads to a long and narrow 
sloping passage, ending in a chamber about eighty 
feet in diameter, and thirty feet high. From this 
lofty hall a series of passages lead to other chambers 
of various sizes and heights ; in many of them the 
stalactites from the roof uniting with the stalagmites 
from the floor form white pillars of glistening 
brightness; the whole effect of these halls when 
lighted up is very beautiful. 

Having spent most of the day in the caves, we 
started about seven in the afternoon for Tipperary, 
which we hoped to reach by midnight. To go 
there by road would have been a walk of some 
five and twenty or thirty miles, while straight 
across the Galtee mountains was little more than 
half the distance ; we therefore adopted the latter 
route. Lest we should lose our Avay, we secured the 
services of a guide, a fine young peasant, who said 



A NIGHT ON- THE G ALTERS 127 

he knew the way across the mountains well. He 
could speak but little English ; this however did 
not matter much, as we only wanted him to lead us. 
Off we set on this splendid summer evening, bright 
and calm. After a while we sat down for a little 
rest among the heather, high up on Galtee More. It 
Avas a glorious sight as we looked back on the great 
plain below us, with its green pastures and waving 
cornfields bathed in the light of the setting sun. 
We could not rest long, and were soon on foot again, 
and had nearly reached the crest of the range, when 
suddenly a fog rolled down upon us, so thick that 
we could not see more than thirty or forty yards. 
On we trudged, vainly hoping that the fog would 
lift; but, far from doing so, it grew darker every 
hour. We wandered on till we had crossed the 
summit ; but soon after we and our guide had com- 
pletely lost our way. On reaching the edge of a 
lake we asked the guide in which direction we 
should go round it, and found, as we had suspected, 
that he was as hopelessly lost as we were, and saw 
plainly that he had never known that there was 
a lake there. We went round by its margin till we 
came to a small stream flowing from it ; we followed 
its course, knowing that it must lead us to the lower 
lands. 

It was night now, and though the fog was as thick 
as ever, it was not altogether dark, as some little 



128 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

moonlight shone through it. The guide tried to 
cheer us up by constantly saying, " Nabochlish " 
("never mind"), "the houses is near, the houses is 
near." Once, some fifteen or twenty yards from us, 
a horse galloped past ; as well as we could see he 
was of a chestnut colour. We were too anxious to 
find our way to think much of this ; but our guide 
brightened up immensely. " See the coppel " (the 
horse), " gentlemen," he said, " I tell'd ye the houses 
is near." But, alas ! near the houses were not, and 
we had yet before us many a scramble through 
brakes of gorse, and many a tumble over rocks and 
tussocks. By this time the moon had gone down, 
and Ave were in complete darkness. The fog lifted 
as suddenly as it had come upon us. I forget which 
of us suggested that we should all shout together as 
loudly as we could, and thus, perhaps, attract the 
notice of some dweller on the slope of the mountain. 
After several shouts, to our joy, we heard in the dis- 
tance an answerino: shout, and soon saw a brio^ht 
light in the direction from which the welcome sounds 
had come. Shout answered shout as we hurried 
down ; at times the light went out, but soon blazed 
up again. 

At last, on the opposite side of a narrow glen 
full of rocks and brushwood, we saw the figures of 
men and women lighted up by a flaming sheaf of 
straw, which one of the men held up high in his 



THE VALLA HORSE 129 

hands. We quickly crossed the glen, and were at 
once surrounded. "Who are ye?" "What do 
ye want?" "Are ye peelers?" "What sort of 
gentlemen are ye at all to be on the mountains 
this time of night ? " To these and many suchlike 
questions we gave the best answers we could. 

After a brief conversation, in Irish, with our 
guide, they led us to a large thatched farm-house; 
the habitation highest on the hills. They explained 
to us that they and some of their neighbours had 
been at the fair at Bansha and stayed out late, and 
just as they got home had heard our shouts. A 
huge turf fire was blazing on the hearth, at which 
w^e sat drying our nether garments which were 
thoroughly drenched ; great mugs of hot goats' milk 
were su})plied to warm our insides, our host inform- 
ing us that he had upwards of eighty goats on the 
mountain. He and the boys (all unmarried men are 
boys in the south) and girls sat up with us by the 
cheery fire, talking, joking, and telling stories. After 
some time my brother happened to say to the man 
of the house, " I suppose that was your horse that 
passed us on the mountain ? " 

All w^ere silent, and looked one at another half- 
incredulous, half -frightened. One of them, after a 
pause, said, " There is no horse on the mountain. 
What sort of a horse was it that ye thought ye 
seen ? " 



130 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

" A chestnut horse," said we. 

" Oh, begorra ! " said our friend ; " they seen the 
yalla horse ! " Then turning to us, " It's a wonder 
ye all cum down alive and safe ; it is few that sees 
the yalla horse that has luck after." 

This was one of the superstitions of the dAvellers 
on the Galtees. We afterwards thought that it 
might have been a red deer that passed us, as at 
that time it was supposed that there were a few of 
them, wild ones, still on the mountain. From what 
our entertainers told us it appears that had not the 
night been so calm, we should have been in con- 
siderable danger of an attack by the enchanted 
" wurrum," who had his abode in the dark lake we 
had passed ; but fortunately for us it is only on wild 
and stormy nights that, with fearful roars, he emerges 
from the lake to waylay benighted wanderers. 

One of the boys now asked us whether we had 
heard what had happened that day. As we had 
not, he told us that "a very responsible man," 
as he called him, had been shot dead that morn- 
ing hard by towards Bansha. (He Avas, I think, 
Mr. Massey Dawson's steward or forester.) He 
did not exactly know, he said, why the man had 
been shot, but thought he was hard on the people 
about the price of timber, and had also dismissed 
some labourers. 

Another of the boys said, "Now, why didn't they 



A FOOLISH TURN 131 

give him a good batin', and not to go kill him 
entirely ? " 

" Ah, then, I suppose,'' said the other, " they kem 
from a distance and didn't like to go home without 
finishing the job." 

^ But," said the other very seriously, " what will 
them chaps do on the day of judgment ? " 

" Oich," said his friend, " what does that signifj^ 
sure many a boy done a foolish turn." 

It is not improbable that our friends knew per- 
fectly well who had been engaged in the murder. 
However that may be, early next morning we bid 
our entertainers a hearty farewell, and, again re- 
freshed with hot goats' milk, started for the town 
of Tipperary, passing through the glen of Aherlow, 
then one of the most disturbed places in Ireland, 
about which the saying amongst the people was, 
'' Wherever the devil is by day he is sure to be in 
the glen of Aherlow by night." It was the only 
time my brother saw that lovely valley, which he 
made the home of Shamus O'Brien in the popular 
ballad which I give here, as I do not think a correct 
version of it can elsewhere be found. 

" SHAMUS O'BRIEN 

"Just after the war, in the year ninety-eight, 
As soon as the boys were all scattered and bate, 
'Twas the custom, whenever a peasant was caught, 



32 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

To hang him by trial, barring such as was shot. 

There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, 

And the martial law hangin' the lavings by night. 

It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon : 

If he missed in the judges, he'd meet a dragoon ; 

And whether the judge or the soldiers gave sentence, 

The divil a much tiuie they allowed for repentance. 

And it's many's the line boy was then on his keeping, 

With small share of restin', or atin', or sleepin', 

And because they loved Erin, and scorned to sell it, 

A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet. 

Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day. 

With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay. 

And the bravest and hardiest boy of them all 

Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town of Glengall. 

His limbs were well set, and his body was light, 

And the keen fanged hound hadn't teeth half so white; 

But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, 

And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red ; 

And for all that he wasn't an ugly young boy, 

For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye, 

So funny and so wicked, so dark and so bright. 

Like the fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night. 

And he was the best mower that ever has been. 

And the illigantest hurler that ever was seen ; 

In fincin' he gave Patrick Mooney a cut. 

And in jumpin' he bate Tim Maloney a foot. 

For lightness of foot there wasn't his peer. 

For, begorra, you'd think he'd outrun the red deer ; 

And his dancin' was such that the men used to stare. 

And the women turned crazy, he had done it so quare — 

And, begorra, the whole w^orld gave in to him there. 

And it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught. 

And it's often he ran, and it's often he fought, 

And it's many's the one can remember right well 



''SHAMUS O'BRIEN'' 133 

The quare things he done ; and it's often I heerd tell 

How he frightened the magistrate in Cahirbally, 

And escaped through the soldiers in Aherlow Valley, 

And leathered the yeomen himself agin' four, 

And stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. 

But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest, 

And treachery preys on the blood of the best. 

After many a brave action of power and pride, 

And many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side. 

And a thousand great dangers and toils overpast, 

In the darkness of night he was taken at last. 

" Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon. 
For the door of the prison must close on you soon ; 
And take your last look at her dim lovely light, 
That falls on the mountain and valley this night ; 
One look at the village, one look at the flood. 
And one at the sheltering, far-distant wood. 
Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill, 
And farewell to the friends that will think of you still ; 
Farewell to the hurlin', the pattern, and wake. 
And farewell to the girl that would die for your sake. 

" Well, twelve soldiers brought him to Maryboro' jail. 
And the turnkey received him, refusin' all bail ; 
The fleet limbs were chained, and the strong hands were 

bound. 
And he laid down his length on the cold prison ground. 
And the dreams of his childhood came over him there, 
As gentle and soft as the sweet summer air ; 
And happy remembrances crowding on ever, 
As fast as the foam flakes drift down the river. 
Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by, 
Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye. 
But the tears didn't fall, for the pride of his heart 



34 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Wouldn't suffer one drop down his pale cheek to start ; 
And he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave, 
And he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, 
By the hopes of the good, by the cause of the brave, 
That when he was mouldering in his cold grave 
His enemies never should have it to boast 
His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost ; 
His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dry, 
For undaunted he'd live, and undaunted he'd die. 

' Well, as soon as a few weeks were over and gone. 
The terrible day of the trial came on. 
There was such a crowd there was scarce room to stand. 
With soldiers on guard, and dragoons sword in hand ; 
And the court-house so full that the people was bothered, 
And attorneys and criers on the point of being smothered; 
And counsellors almost given over for dead. 
And the jury sittin' up in their box overhead ; 
And the judge settled out, so detarmined and big, 
With his gown on his back, and an illigant new wig. 
And silence was called, and the minute it was said. 
The court was as still as the heart of the dead, 
And they heard but the opening of one prison lock. 
And Shamus O'Brien came into the dock. 
For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng. 
And he looked on the bars, so firm and so strong, 
And he saw that he hadn't a hope nor a friend, 
A chance to escape nor a word to defend ; 
And he folded his arms as he stood there alone. 
As calm and as cold as a statue of stone. 
And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste. 
And Jim didn't understand it or mind it a taste. 
And the judge took a big pinch of snuff, and he says, 
' Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, if you plaseV 
And they all held their breath in the silence of dread ; 



135 



''SHAM US O'BRIEN'' 

And Shainus O'Brien made answer and said, 

' My lord, if you ask nie if in my life-time 

I thought any treason or done any crime 

That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, 

The hot blush of shame or the coldness of fear, 

Though T stood by the grave to receive my death-blow. 

Before God and the world I answer you, *' No ! " 

But if you would ask me, as I think it like, 

If in the rebellion I carried a pike. 

And fought for old Ireland from the first to the close, 

And shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes, 

I answer you, " Yes ! " and I tell you again. 

Though I stand here to perish, it's my glory that then 

In her cause I was willing my veins should run dry. 

And that now for her sake I am ready to die.' 

Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright, 

And the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light ; 

By my sowl ! it's himself was the crabbed old chap. 

In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. 



" Then Shamus's mother, in the crowd standing by, 
Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry: 
' Oh, judge darlin', don't ! — oh, don't say the word ! 
The crathur is young ; have mercy, my lord ! 
He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin'; 
You don't know him, my lord — oh, don't give him to ruin ! 
He's the kindliest crathur, the tenderest hearted. 
Don't part us for ever, we that's so long parted ! 
Judge, mavourneen, forgive him ! forgive him, my lord ! 
And God will forgive you. Oh, don't say the word ! ' 

" That was the first minute that O'Brien was shaken. 
When he saw that he wasn't quite forgot or forsaken ; 
And down his pale cheeks, at the words of his mother. 
The big tears were runnin' fast, one after th' other ; 



136 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

And he tried hard to hide them or wipe them away, 

But in vain, for his liands were too fast bound that day. 

And two or three times he endeavom-ed to spake, 

But the strong, manly voice used to falter and break ; 

Till at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride, 

He conquered and mastered his grief's swelling tide. 

' And,' says he, ' Mother darlin', don't break your poor heart, 

For sooner or later the dearest must part. 

And God knows it's better than wandering in fear 

On the bleak, trackless mountain among the wild deer, 

To lie in the grave, where the head, hand, and breast 

From thought, labour, and sorrow for ever shall rest. 

Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more. 

Don't make me seem broken in this my last hour ; 

For I wish, when my head is lyin' under the raven, 

No true man can say that I died like a craven ! ' 

Then towards the judge Shamus bowed down his head, 

And that minute the solemn death sentence was said. 

" The morning was bright, and the mist rose on high, 
And the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky. 
But why are the men standin' idle so late? 
And why do the crowds gather fast in the street? 
What come they to talk of? what come they to see? 
And Vv^hy does the long rope hang from the cross-tree? 
Now, Shamus O'Brien, pray fervent and fast; 
May the saints take your soul ! for this day is your last ; 
Pray fast, and pray strong, for the moment is nigh 
When, strong, proud, and great as you are, you must die. 
And faster and faster the crowd gathered there — 
Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair; 
And whisky was sellin', and cussamuck too. 
And ould men and young women enjoyin' the view; 
And ould Tim Mulvany he made the remark, 
' There wasn't such a sight since the time of Noah's ark.' 



''SHAMUS O'BRIEN'' 137 

And, begorra, 'twas true for him, the divil such a scruge, 

Such divarshin and crowds was known since the deluge I 

Ten thousand was gathered there, if there was one. 

All waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'id come on. 

At last they threw open the big prison gate, 

And out come the sheriffs and soldiers in state, 

And a cart in the middle, and Shamus was in it, 

Not paler, but prouder than ever that minute. 

And as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, 

With prayin' and blessin' and all the girls cryin', 

A wild, wailin' sound came on by degrees, 

Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. 

On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone, 

And the cart and the soldiers go steadily on ; 

And at every side swellin' around of the cart, 

A wild, sorrowful sound that would open your heart. 

Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand, 

And the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand ; 

And the priest gives his blessing and goes down on the ground, 

And Shamus O'Brien throws one last look round ; 

Then the hangman drew near, and the people grew still, 

Young faces turned sickly and warm hearts grew chill. 

And all being ready, his neck was made bare 

For the gripe of the life-stranglin' cord to prepare ; 

And the good priest has left him, having said his last prayer. 

But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound, 

And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground ! 

Bang ! bang ! go the carbines, and clash go the sabres ! 

' He's not down ! he's alive still ! now stand to him, neighbours ! 

Through the smoke and the horses, he's into the crowd ! 

By the heavens he is free ! ' than thunder more loud, 

By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken — 

One shout that the dead of the world might awaken. 

Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, 

But if you want hangin', it's yourselves you must hang. 



138 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

For to-night he'll be sleepin' in Ahevlow glen, 

And the divil's in the dice if you catch him again. 

The soldiers ran this way, the hangman ran that, 

And Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat ; 

And the sheriffs were both of them punished severely. 

And fined like the divil because Jim done them fairly." 

The ballad was written in a very few days, in 
the year 1840, and sent to me day by day by my 
brother as he wrote it to Dundalk, where I was then 
staying. I quickly learned it by heart, and now and 
then recited it. The scraps of paper on which it 
was w^ritten were lost, and years after, when my 
brother wished for a copy, 1 had to WTite it out 
from memor}^ for him. One other copy I wrote out 
in the same way and gave to Samuel Lover when 
he was starting on his tour through the United 
States, where, as will be seen by the following letter, 
it was received with much applause : — 



'* Astor House, New York, U.S. America, 

" September 30, 1846. 
" My dear Le Fanu, 

" In reading over your brother's poem while I crossed the 

Atlantic, I became more and more impressed with its great 

beauty and dramatic effect ; so much so that I determined to 

test its effect in public, and have done so here, on my first 

appearance, with the greatest success. Now I have no doubt 

there will be great praises of the poem, and people will suppose 

most likely that the composition is mine, and, as you know (I 

take it for granted) that I would not wish to wear a borrowed 

feather, I should be glad to give your brother's name as author, 



A GOOD GUESS 139 

should he not object to have it known ; but as his writings are 
often of so different a tone, I would not speak without permis- 
sion to do so. It is true that in my programme my name is 
attached to the other pieces, and no name appended to the 
recitation ; so far you will see I have done all I could to avoid 
'appropriating,' the spirit of which I might have caught here with 
Irish aptitude ; but I would like to have the means of telling all 
whom it may concern the name of the author to whose head 
and heart it does so much honour. Pray, my dear Le Fanu, 
inquire and answer me here by next packet, or as soon as 
convenient. My success here has been quite triumphant. 

" Yours very truly, 

" Samuel Lover." 

Notwithstanding his disclaimer of authorship, 
I afterwards, more than once, heard the poem 
attributed to Lover. He did, indeed, add a few 
lines, by no means an improvement to it, in which 
he makes Shamus emigrate to America, where he 
sets up a public-house, and w^rites home to his 
mother to invite her to come out and live with him 
in his happy home. I suppose he thought that this 
would suit the taste of the Irish- Americans. 

Many years after this, when I had recited the 
poem at the house of my friend. Sir William 
Stirling Maxwell, he said, "1 was afraid poor 
Shamus would be hanged." " I didn't think so for 
a moment," said Lord Dufferin. "Why?" said Sir 
William. "Possibly," said Lord Dufferin, "it may 
have been because I have heard William Le Fanu 
recite it once or twice before." 



I40 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

There are a few words and phrases in " Shamus 
O'Brien " which some of my readers may not under- 
stand. I give them here with their meaning. 

"Just after the war." The peasants always call the rebellion 
of 1798 " the War." 

'* On his keeping," in hiding from the police or soldiers. 

"The illigantest hurler." "Hurling" (or "hurley," as it is 
now called) was formerly the chief game in Ireland. 

" Gossoon," or " gorsoon," a young lad. 

" Pattern," a gathering for religious purposes or for cures at 
a holy well, or some other place, dedicated to some patron saint. 
The word is a corruption of " patron." 



AN EXCITED DUELLIST 141 



CHAPTER X 

A determined duel — I act the peasant, and am selected for the 
police force — Death of my sister — Sketch of my brother's 
life — Dan O'Connell's " Illustrious Kinsman" — A murderous 
Grand Jury — A sad reflection. 

It was just about the year 1838 that a duel — one 
of the last, if not the last, in this country — was 
fought, of which a Mr. Ireland, then at the Irish 
Bar, gave me the following account : — 

The cause of the quarrel was some joke which a 
Mr. O'llara had made at the expense of a Mr. Robert 
JSTapoleon Finn, who at once challenged him to 
mortal combat. O'Hara, like a brave Galway man 
as he was, refused to make the slightest apology, 
and preliminaries were quickly settled by the 
seconds. It was arranged that the meeting should 
take place at five a.m. next morning, on the sands at 
the IS'orth Bull, a lonely place at the seaside, about 
three miles from Dublin. Ireland, who was a friend 
of both the principals, was invited to accompany the 
party as amicus ciirice. Xext morning, when they 
arrived on the ground, they took off their great 
coats, and laid them in a pile on the sand, and on 
them Ireland took his seat. 



142 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

It was arranged that one of the seconds, who 
had had some little previous experience in affairs 
of honour, should give the signal for the com- 
batants to fire. When they were in their places, 
twelve paces apart, this second, standing between 
them, proceeded to give them instructions as to how 
the fight was to be conducted. " The only signal 
will be," he said, " the words, ' Eeady — fire.' " At 
the word " fire," Finn, in his nervous excitement, 
raised his pistol, pointing it towards the second. 
" Be quiet, will you ? " said he. " Do you want to 
shoot me ? " Having retired a few paces to be out 
of danger, he went on to say, " ISTeither of you is 
to attempt to raise your pistol till I give the word 
' ready,' nor to attempt to shoot till I give the word 
' fire.' " At the word " fire " Finn again lost his 
head, pulled the trigger of his pistol, which was 
pointed downwards, and lodged the bullet in the 
calf of his own leg. O'Hara, thinking that Finn 
had taken a shot at him, immediately took aim at 
him, while Finn hopped off as fast as his wounded 
leg would let him, crying out, '' For God's sake, 
don't fire ; it was all a mistake ! " But O'Hara did 
fire, and his bullet struck the ground close to Finn, 
and sent the sand fiying over Ireland and the coats. 
At that moment four constables appeared on the 
ground with warrants for the arrest of the whole 
party, who were quickly captured, placed in the 



AN EXCITED DUELLIST 143 

carriages in which they had come, and driven back 
to Dublin, Finn's leg the while dangling out of the 
carriage window to keep it cool. The affair caused 
much amusement in Dublin, and it was said, I think, 
by Pat Costello, that " Finn had gone to the Bull, 
got cow'd, and shot the calf." 

After 1839 I was comparatively little at Abing- 
ton. I had in that year become one of the pupils of 
Sir John MacNeill, the well-known civil engineer. 
About a year after I had joined his staff I had gone 
to a fancy ball in the south of Ireland as an Irish 
peasant — frieze coat, corduroy knee-breeches, yellow 
waistcoat, grey stockings, and brogues ; in my fist 
a good blackthorn, and on my head a wig, with the 
hair cropped quite close, except the national glib, or 
forelock, then the fashion amongst the southern 
peasantry. When I came back to Dublin, I went to 
MacN'eill's office dressed in the same way, and so 
perfect was the disguise that I completely took him 
in, as well as my fellow pupils. I told them I had 
come all the way from Clonmel to look for work, 
and couldn't find any, and wanted to get home 
again, but hadn't the means ; and then and there 
they made a subscription to enable me to get back 
to my native Tipperary. 

Amongst the pupils was Hemans, son of Mrs. 
Hemans the poetess, afterwards highly distinguished 
in his profession. He then lived in Dublin Castle, 



144 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

at the official residence of his uncle, Colonel Browne, 
Chief Commissioner of Police, with whom I often 
dined and spent my evenings. Hemans was so 
much pleased with the trick I had played that he 
insisted on my going to the Castle, disguised in the 
same way, to apply to his uncle for an appointment 
as constable in the Dublin Metropolitan Police. So 
I w^rote a letter to Colonel Browne in my own 
name, saying that the bearer, Pat Kyan, was a 
most respectable young man, one of ni}^ father's 
parishioners, ^vho was very anxious to be a police- 
man, and that I should be very much obliged if he 
could appoint him. With this letter in my pocket, 
I took a covered car (there were no cabs in Dublin 
then), and drove to the police office in the Castle. 
I told the driver to wait for me, and was ushered by 
a policeman into a large hall, where were assembled 
several candidates for admission into the force, and 
also some constables. On entering I looked about, 
and said — 

"Gentlemen, which of yez is Colonel Browne, if 
ye plaze ? '' 

A policeman came up to me, and said, " Colonel 
Browme is not in the room. What is it you want ? " 

"Well, sir," said I, "it's a bit of a writin' I have 
that Mr. Le Fanu gave me for the Colonel." 

" Give it to me," said he, "and Pll give it to him." 

" Not by no manner of means," said I ; " for Mr. 



A CANDIDATE FOR THE POLICE 145 

Le Fanu towlcl me not to give it to any one, only 
into the Colonel's own hands ; and, begorra, I'd be 
afeared to give it to any one else, so I must see him 
myself." 

The policeman replied, " If you don't give me the 
letter you won't see him at all. Don't be afraid ; 
I'll give it to him safe enough." 

" Under them circumstances, sir," said I, " I'll 
trust you with it ; but, my good man, you must give 
it to the Colonel at once, for Mr. Le Fanu will be 
displeased if I'm kept waitin'." 

I was, however, kept a long time, during which 
I had a good deal of talk with other candidates. 
Amongst them was a very dapper little fellow, 
neatly dressed, but plainly quite too small and slight 
for the police. He looked rather contemptuously at 
my get-up, and said — 

''Now, do you think you have much chance of 
being appointed 1 " 

"Well, my tight fellow," said I, "if we are to 
judge by personal appearance and shapes, I think I 
have as good a chance as you, any way." 

He retired, and a friendly constable came up to 
me, and said, "What part of the country do you 
come from ? " 

" I'm from Tipperary," said I. 

"I thought so," said he; "I partly guessed I 
knew the frieze. And in what part of Tipperary do 
you live ? " 



146 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

" Not very far from Newport," said I. 

" Oh, then," said he, " I suj)pose yon know the 
Doodeys?" 

" Of coorse I do," said I. " Why wouldn't I know 
them ? " (I had never heard of them.) 

" And how is old Mick Doodey ? " said he. 

" He's illigant," said I. 

"And how is little Tom \ " he asked. 

" He's illigant too," said I, " only in regard of a 
sort of a swelling he has in his jaw." 

" He was always subject to that," said he ; then, 
looking at my hair, which was too long, and was 
coming out below the wig at the back of my head, 
he said, " AVhat makes your hair so long at the 
back?" 

" I suppose," said I, " when my hair was shaved 
off last Candlemas, wlren I had the sickness, that the 
front and the back of it grew longer since than the 
other parts." 

" Come in with me for a minute," said he, " and 
I'll crop it off for you in the way you'll look neat 
and tidy when you'r called up." 

" I thank you kindly," said I, " but I'll not mind 
it just now ; it will be time enough to crop it if I'm 
appointed." 

"Well, anyhow," said he, "hould up your head, 
and don't look any Avay afeared or daunted like 
when you go up before the Colonel." 



A FRIENDLY POLICEMAN 147 

Our conversation was then interrupted, as I was 
ordered upstairs to appear before the Colonel. As I 
entered his room I took off iny hat and my brogues, 
and laid them with my blackthorn on the floor 
beside me. There was my old friend seated at his 
desk in all the dignity of oflice. After he had taken 
a good long look at me, he said — 

" It was you, I think, who brought me this letter 
from Mr. Le Fanu ? " 

" It was, my lord." 

" You want to go into the police ? " 

'' That's my ambition, your raverence." 

" Can you read and write ? " 

"Why not, your worship? Sure I got a nate 
edication." 

" Well, read that," said he, handing me a letter, 
which I begun to read as follows : — " Sir, I am 
anxious to become a member of the M-E me^ 

T-R-0 tro^ P-0 jpo Ah, begorra, my lord," said 

I, " that long word bates me ! " 

" Never mind," he said ; " it is ' metropolitan.' 
Go on." 

I got through the rest of the letter swimmingly. 

" Take him down now," said he, " and have him 
measured, and then bring him back here." 

I was taken down and put under the measuring 
instrument, where I kept bobbing up my head to 
make myself taller. 



148 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

'' Keep quiet, will you," said the sergeant, putting 
his hand on my head. " You have a wig on ? " 

" Of course I have," said I. 

" Kemove it at once," said he. 

" ]N'o, nor the dickens a taste," said I. " Didn't ye 
hear the Colonel tellin' me not to dar to take off that 
wig be reason of a cowld I have in my head '\ " 

So I was measured with my wig on, due allow- 
ance^ being, no doubt, made for it, and was marched 
up to the Colonel again. 

" Exactly six foot, sir," said the sergeant. 

The Colonel then said to me, ^' You are to attend 
here on Friday morning next, at ten o'clock, to be 
examined by the doctor; and you may tell Mr. 
Le Fanu that if you pass the doctor I intend to put 
you into the B division." 

" Long may your honour live ! " said I ; then, 
handing him one of my visiting cards, I added, 
" Mr. Le Fanu bid me give you that." 

"AYhere is Mr. Le Fanu?" said he. 

" Here, your raverence," said I. 

" AVhat do you mean ? " he asked me. 

"Ah, then. Colonel dear, you ould villain, look 
at me now. Is it because I'm in these plain clothes 
you purtind not to know me ? " 

Up he jumped, put his arm in mine, and for 
some minutes laughed so heartily that he could not 
say a word, while the sergeant and the orderly stood 



AfV S/ST£7rS DEATH 149 

near the door, in amazement, thinking we had both 
gone off our heads. As soon as he could speak he 
said, "Come to dine at half-past seven, and we'll 
talk about the B division." 

I ran downstairs to the hall, where candidates 
came about me, asking, " Are you appointed ? " 

" Appointed, ye blackguards of the world ! " said 
I. " Appointed, is it ! I'm not only appointed, but, 
begorra, I'm to dine with the Colonel." 

I then ran out, got into my car, and drove off. I 
did not come back on Friday to the doctor; but 
many years afterwards I got a good appointment 
on the Great Southern Eailway for Barrett, the 
constable who had been so good to me. 

In the spring of ISttl a great grief befell us in 
the death of our only sister, the constant and loved 
companion of our young days. Her cleverness, her 
sweet temper, and, above all, her wondrous goodness, 
had endeared her, not to us alone, but to all who 
knew her. Without a particle of that cant or one 
of those shibboleths which spoil the conversation 
and mar the usefulness of so many, she influenced 
for good all who came in contact with her. She 
was the idol of the poor in our neighbourhood. 
There are still old people at Abington who speak of 
her as " the good Miss Catherine," and tell of all 
the good she did. 

She had been early a contributor to the Buhlin 



150 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

University Magazine^ in which she wrote most 
pleasantly, but fell into ill-health and died when she 
Avas twenty-seven. She was her father's darling. 
After her death he never was the same, and did not 
very long survive her. We were summoned from 
Dublin to her death-bed. Great was her joy at 
seeing us and having us with her. She had feared 
that we would not arrive in time to see her. 

It was in this same year, 1841, that my brother 
took his B.A. degree in the University, and soon 
afterwards was called to the Irish Bar. But he 
almost immediately became connected with the Press, 
and proprietor and editor of the Tr^/YZ^r, a paper 
of note in Ireland; and shortly afterwards he pur- 
chased another paper, which he also edited. This 
was injurious to his future j^rospects, as it prevented 
his applying himself to a profession, for which his 
eloquence and ready wit fitted him, and of which 
his contemporaries had hoped to see him a distin- 
guished member. Later on he purchased, and for 
some time edited, the Dublin University Magazine. 
It was in that periodical he published the first of 
Ehoda Brough ton's novels. She was first cousin to 
my brother's wife, Susan Bennett, the charming 
daughter of the late George Bennett, Q.C., whom he 
married in the year 1841:. 

In 1845 the first and one of his best novels, " The 
Cock and Anchor, a Chronicle of old Dublin Citv," 



MY BROTHER'S NOVELS 151 

appeared ; and very soon his second, " The Fortunes 
of Turloch O'Brien." They were published in 
Dublin, and were unsuccessful. I know not why, 
for they were quite equal to some of his most success- 
ful novels. 

Owing to their want of success, and to the 
amount of time he was obliged to devote to the 
Press, he did not for eighteen years again take up 
his pen as a novelist. It was not until 1863 that 
his next story, "The House by the Churchyard," 
appeared. It was soon followed by " Uncle Silas," 
the best known of his novels, and afterwards by 
^\Q others. 

His wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, 
died in 1858, and from this time he entirely forsook 
general society, and was seldom seen except by 
his near relations and a few familiar friends. In 
the year 1871, almost immediately after the publi- 
cation of his last novel, "Willing to Die," he 
breathed his last in his house in Merrion Square. 
One who knew him long and well thus speaks of 
him in a short memoir which appeared, in the 
University Magazine^ soon after his death : " He 
was a man who thought deeply, especially on re- 
ligious subjects. To those who knew him he was 
very dear. They admired him for his learning, his 
sparkling wit, and pleasant conversation, and loved 
him for his manly virtues, for his noble and generous 



152 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

qualities, his gentleness, and his loving, affectionate 
nature." 

All who knew my brother will feel the truth of 
these few simple words. 

As MacXeill had an office in London, as w^ell as 
one in Dublin, I had to be a good deal there during 
my pupilage, and for twenty years afterwards I 
spent a good part of every spring and early summer 
there — first as MacKeill's assistant, and subsequently 
to attend before Parliamentary committees to give 
evidence on bills for railways and other works, of 
which I was engineer. 

In those days, amongst Irishmen resident in 
London, was a Avell-known character, called amongst 
his friends "Lord Kilmallock," or, more generally, 
" Kilmallock," owing to his having been born in 
the little town of that name in the county of 
Limerick, Avhence he emigrated to the big city. 
His real name was O'Connell. Though no relation 
of the famous Dan O'Connell, he w^ished to be 
thought so, and on every occasion took up the 
cudgels for his " illustrious kinsman," as he always 
called him. Of him the " Liberator's " nephew, 
Morgan John O'Connell, the M.P. (for Kerry, I 
think), told me many anecdotes, amongst them the 
following : — 

O'Connell, in one of his violent speeches, told his 
audience that Disraeli was a lineal descendant of the 



''LORD KILMALLOCK'' 153 

impenitent thief. Disraeli at once challenged liim ; 
but O'Connell refused to meet him, having registered 
a vow that he would never fight again, owing to his 
having killed Mr. D'Esterre in a duel in the early 
days of his career. Kilmallock considered it his 
duty at once to take up the quarrel, and wrote to 
Disraeli to the following effect : — 

"Sir, — I understand that you have sent a challenge to my 
illustrious kinsman, the great Daniel O'Connell, well knowing 
that owing to a solemn vow he could not meet you; but I, sir, 
as his relative, and endorsing every word he said of you, am 
prepared to give you that satisfaction which one gentleman 
owes to another, and am ready to meet you at any time and 
place you name — here, in France, in Germany, or even at the 
foot of that mount where your impenitent ancestor suffered for 
his crimes." 

About the same time an English member of Par- 
liament, Mr. Chambers, brought forward every 
Session a motion in the House of Commons, with a 
view of having a Government inspection of nun- 
neries. A friend called on Kilmallock the morning 
after a debate on one of these motions. He found 
him very busy writing. 

"What are you writing about, Kilmallock?" he 
asked. 

" I'm writing a letter to the editor of the Times 
about that scoundrel Chambers. I'll read you as 
much as I have written : — 



154 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

" To the Editor of the Times. 
"Sir, — T see by your paper of this date that last night in 
the House of Commons Mr. Chambers brought forward his 
usual motion in favour of Government inspection of Catholic 
nunneries. Instead of attacking those amiable, pious, virtuous 
ladies, the Catholic nuns, let this Mr. Chambers look nearer 
home ; let him look at his own old card-playing, scandal-mon- 
gering, dram-drinking mother — " 

" But," interrupted his friend, " take care that 
that is not libellous. Are you quite sure that she is 
so bad ? " 

" What would I know about the old divil ? " said 
Kilmallock. " I never heard of her in my life. But 
if he has a particle of manly feeling in his composi- 
tion it will cut him to the quick." 

Morgan John O'Connell, in introducing Kilmal- 
lock to a friend, said, ''Allow me to introduce to 
you my namesake, Mr. O'Connell." "Your illus- 
trious uncle," Kilmallock said, " would have said 
' my kinsman.'' " " That is his vanity," said Morgan 
John. 

It was Kilmallock, I think, who told me of a 
Grand Jury case which occurred many years before 
in his own county of Kerry. 

At the spring assizes at Tralee the Grand Jury, 
who had been considering a murder case, came from 
their room into court to consult the judge. The 
foreman said, " My lord, how can we find a bill for 
wilful murder when the murdered man himself is 



MURDER OR MANSLAUGHTER? 155 

giving evidence before us ? " '' Quite impossible, 
gentlemen," said the judge. " But, my lord," said 
one of the jury, "as the man was nearly killed, 
couldn't we find a bill for manslaughter? " " Equally 
impossible, gentlemen," said the judge. 

The way in which the matter arose was this : In 
the winter before, a farmer had been attacked and 
beaten almost to death about fifteen miles from 
Tralee. He was found on the road insensible, and 
carried into a cabin. The inmates did not know 
whether he was alive or dead, so to be right in 
either case they sent to Tralee for the doctor and 
the coroner, who both arrived in the afternoon in a 
storm of sleet and snow. On examining the injured 
man the doctor said he could not possibly recover or 
even live through the night. The coroner asked him 
whether it was absolutely certain that he would die 
before morning. The doctor replied, "Absolutely 
certain." " In that case," said the coroner, " I may 
as well hold my inquest on him, for he is dead to all 
intents and purposes, and what would be the use of 
my going back to Tralee only to come out here 
again to-morrow in this awful weather % " So a jury 
was brought together, who quickly found a verdict 
of "Wilful murder against some person or persons 
unknown." But in spite of doctor and coroner the 
man recovered, and thus was able to appear before 
the Grand Jury. 



156 SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIFE 

Another of Kilmallock's stories was of a young 
Irishman in mourning, on board one of the river 
boats, who, as it passed Greenwich, was seen to 
burst into tears and cover his face with his hand- 
kerchief. On being asked what was the cause of his 
emotion, '' Look at that building," said he, pointing 
to Greenwich Hospital — "look at it! It reminds 
me of my dear father's stables in Connemara ! " 



THE POWER OF THE PEOPLE 157 



CHAPTEE XI 

The power of the people — Sergeant Murphy ; his London man- 
ners — Pat Costello's humour — I meet Thackeray — Paddy 
Blake's echo — Dan O'Connell's Imagination — Sir James 
O'Connell's anecdotes — He is prayed for by his herd. 

At one of Dan O'Connell's elections, during the 
Eepeal agitation, where the speaking was pretty 
stormy, one of the speakers, a Mr. MacSheehey, 
exclaimed in stentorian tones, " We'll hurl the Brit- 
ish lion from his pedestal ! " A voice from the 
crowd was heard to cry, " Mr. MacSheehey ! Mr. 
MacSheehey ! if I was you I'd let that baste alone, 
or maybe you'll find his claws in your tail some fine 
morning." 

This reminds me of a friend of mine, who at one 
time thought of contesting the borough of Tralee, 
his native town. In his maiden speech he used the 
words, '' The power of the people, once roused, can 
hurl the mightiest potentate from his throne ! " 
Next morning, in reading the report of his speech in 
the Tralee Chronicle^ he found to his horror he was 
made to say, " The power of the people, once roused, 
can hurl the mightiest Hottentot from his throne." 



158 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Whether it was owing to the fun that was made of 
him about his speech or from some other cause I 
cannot say, but he never spoke in public again. 

A misprint of something of the same kind oc- 
curred in the report of a speech of O'ConnelFs, in 
which he was made to say that " He would always 
stand up for religious liberty and for the right of 
every man to horsewhip his God after the dictates 
of his conscience." The report had changed " wor- 
ship " into " horsewhip." Strange to say, this mis- 
print appeared in the paper which, at the time, was 
the strongest supporter of O'Connell. 

Another Irishman well known in London then 
was Sergeant Murphy, generally known as " Frank 
Murphy." He was member of Parliament for Cork, 
his native city, and distinguished at the Bar and in 
the House of Commons. Pleasant and witty he w^as, 
considerably bumptious too. When he visited Cork 
during vacation, his great delight Avas to astonish 
the natives by his London ways and manners. At 
a large dinner-party at the house of an old gentle- 
man, a relative and namesake of his, Avhere many 
Murphys w^ere assembled, immediately after dinner 
he lit a cigar and began to smoke, a custom unheard 
of in Ireland then. There was much astonishment 
amongst the guests. His old host, however, was 
equal to the occasion, and at once said, "Indeed, 
then, it is kind for you, Frank, for your old grand- 



SERGEANT MURPHY 159 

mother always took a shaugli of the pipe after the 
pratees." 

In Murphy's time, Spooner and Newdegate were 
the two ultra-Protestant Tories in the House of 
Commons. Of these he said, " The degrees of com- 
parison of the word ' spoon ' are ' Spoon,' ' Spooner,' 
' Newdegate.' " 

He was a friend of Warren, author of " Ten 
Thousand a Year," a most conceited man. When 
this book was coming out in numbers in, I think, 
^m^er^-Magazine, the two met at a large dinner- f^^^^-^^^^ 
party in London, and, though the story was coming- 
out anonymously, Murphy and most of the other 
guests knew perfectly well it was Warren's. After 
dinner, when the conversation was general, Warren, 
who was always fishing for compliments, said to 
Murphy across the table — 

"Have you read that thing that is coming out 
in Frazer f " 

" What thing ? " said Murphy. 

" ' Ten Thousand a Year,' " said Warren. 

" Yes, I have read it," he answered. 

" What do you think of it ? " asked Warren. 

'* Hardly fair to ask me," said Murphy, "for 1 
wrote it." 

I have heard a story told of Murphy, but which 
really happened to quite another man, a resident 
in Kerry, who dearly loved a lord, and lost no 



i6o SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

opportunity of talking of his great acquaintances. 
At a dinner-party where there were several Roman 
Catholics, during a conversation on the subject of 
fasting, this gentleman said, "It is very strange 
how little Catholics in the higher ranks mind the 
fast days. I was dining at the Duke of ISTorfolk's 
on a fast day, three weeks' ago, and there wasn't 
a bit of fish at dinner." " I suppose," said Pat 
Costello, " they had eaten it all in the dining-room % " 

This Pat Costello had been on very intimate 
terms with a fellow barrister, O'Loughlin, afterwards 
Sir Michael O'Loughlin and IVIaster of the Rolls in 
Ireland. As " Pat " and " Michael " they were wont 
to address each other. Soon after the latter was 
appointed Master of the Rolls, he met Pat and said 
to him, "How do you do, Mr. Costello." "Mr. 
Costello ! " said Pat. " Bedad, you'd think it was 
I that was Master of the Rolls." 

A friend who met him unexpectedly said, " Are 
you here, Pat ? I heard you had gone up the Rhine 
with Billy Stephens." " Up the Rhine with Billy 
Stephens ! " said Pat. " I wouldn't go up the Dodder 
with him." The Dodder is a little stream passing 
through the suburbs of Dublin into the Liffey. 

It is told of him that, on a Friday, at a mail-coach 
dinner, when there was only a small piece of salmon, 
all of which the only other Roman Catholic pas- 
senger was taking to himself, Pat interposed, and 



THACKERAY i6i 

insisted on having half of it, saying, " Do you think, 
sir, no one has a soul to be saved but yourself ? " 

He was not of the same mind as the Eoman 
Catholic gentleman who, when asked Avhy he ate 
meat on Friday, said that fish always disagreed with 
him and gave him dyspepsia, and that though he 
had a Catholic heart, he greatly feared he had a 
Protestant stomach. 

On one of my visits to London, I found that my 
old friend Johnny Jones, a most amusing fellow, 
formerly one of Sir J. MacNeill's assistants, had be- 
come famous as a sculptor. My first acquaintance 
with Thackeray was through him, and came about on 
this wise. Jones came one night into my hotel and 
told me he had just come up from Greenwich, where 
he, Thackeray, and two or three others had been 
dining together. 

"By-the-by," said he, ''don't you know Thacke- 
ray ? " 

" I am sorry to say I do not," said I. 

" Then," said he, " come and dine with me to-mor- 
row and you'll meet him." 

" Where do you dine ? " I asked. 

"At my friend Bevan's in Coleman Street." 

" But," I answered, " I do not know Mr. Bevan. 
I never even heard of him." 

" That doesn't make the slightest difference," said 
Johnny. "He's the best fellow in the world — 



1 62 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

sings like a nightingale — and will be glad to see 
you." 

" But," I objected, " how could I go to dine at the 
house of a man when I don't know him % " 

Johnny replied, " If I ask you, it's exactly the 
same as if he asked you. He has given me a carte 
Uanche to ask any one I choose ; and I often bring 
a friend to dine with him. If 3^ou don't come we'll 
be only five to-morrow, and six would be pleasanter, 
and he Avould like it better. I'll tell you what sort 
of a man Bevan is. About three months ago he 
asked me to stay with him for a few days. I am 
with him still ; and he is such a good fellow and 
such a pleasant fellow, I do not think I'll ever leave 
him." 

So I accepted the invitation, and on my arrival 
at Coleman Street next day, found Mr. Bevan all 
that Johnny had described him. A pleasant little 
party we were ; Bevan and Johnny at head and 
foot of the table, Hobhouse and Mozley at one 
side, Thackeray and I at the other, and with songs 
and stories we kept it up well into the small hours. 

Thackeray was always pleasant when I afterwards 
met him ; but so pleasant and in such spirits as he 
was that night I never saw him. I happened to 
mention an amusing dissertation which I had heard 
that morning between Lord Redesdale, Chairman of 
Committees of the Lords, and Yenables^ then one 



PADDY BLAKE'S ECHO 163 

of the leading parliamentary agents. I asked 
Thackeray whether he knew Yenables. " I ought 
to know him," said he; "it was he who broke my 
nose." 

In telling an Irish story, few could equal Jones. 
He sang well, too ; but in Irish songs, gay or 
plaintive, another Johnny far surpassed him. His 
was one of the sweetest and most touching voices 
I have ever heard. He was Johnny, eldest son of 
the late, and brother of the present Sir Thomas 
Deane, the distinguished architect. Several years 
after the time I have been speaking of, these two 
were the life and soul of a large party who spent 
a few days at Killarney when Lord Carlisle, then 
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, came down to open the 
railway there, of which I was engineer. Some of 
the party, amongst whom were Judge Haliburton 
(Sam Slick), Shirley Brooks, Johnny Jones, and 
myself, had been through the Gap of Dunloe and 
came down the lakes. It was a very windy day, 
so windy that though Spillane, our bugler, played 
his best at the Eagle's Nest and other points, no 
echo coukl we get. Again he tried at Glena; but 
all in vain. No answer came to the bugle sound; 
so we determined to try whether we could awake 
an echo by shouting all together at the top of our 
voices. We sang out, "Ho, ho, Johnny Jones I " 
A soft and o'entle echo from the mountain answered. 



1 64 SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIEE 

" Ho, ho, Jolinii}^ Deane I " Surely, thought we, 
we must have misheard. We called again, "Ho, 
ho, Johnny Jones I " More clearly than before the 
echo said, " Ho, ho, Johnny Deane ! " Again and 
again we tried, but got no other response. " Begorra," 
said one of our boatmen, " often as I heard tell of 
Paddy Blake's echo, I never believed in it till now." 

Paddy Blake's echo is well known at Killarney. 
When you call out, " How are you, Paddy Blake ? " 
Echo answers, "AVell, I thank you, sir." In the 
evening the mystery was solved. Johnny Deane 
himself was the echo. He and some others of our 
friends had climbed Glena and heard and answered 
our shouting from its wooded side. 

When Lord Carlisle made a speech on the 
opening of the railway, there stood near me a 
reporter of one of the Kerry papers, who asked me 
the names of the people by whom his Excellency was 
attended. Amongst them was Walter Creyke, then 
in deacon's orders and chaplain to Lord Carlisle. 
" Who is the handsome young man with the dark 
beard ? " said my neighbour. " Mr. Creyke," said 
I, " the Lord Lieutenant's chaplain." " Do you know 
his Christian name \ '' he said. " Cokx," said I. 
Li the mornings paper he duly appeared as "the 
Eev. Corn Creyke." 

It was then I first met James O'Connell, after- 
Avards Sir James, father of Sir Maurice the present 



DAN O'CONNELL 165 

baronet, and brother of the famous Dan O'Connell ; 
a most agreeable man, full of interesting information 
and memories. Many a story he told me of his 
famous brother Dan ; amongst them the following, 
which shows how unscrupulous O'Connell could be 
when he thought occasion required it. He had 
brought his brother either to the Bar of the House 
or behind the woolsack — I forget which — to hear a 
debate on Irish affairs in the House of Lords. A 
discussion arose on some petition which had been 
presented to the peers, in the course of which a 
Tory peer had said, "What are we to think, my 
lords, of such a petition as this, the first signature to 
which is that of Hamilton Rowan, an attainted 
traitor ? " 

Lord Brougham, seeing O'Connell, came down to 
him and said, " What am I to say to this ? " 

"You may say," said Dan, " that Mr. Hamilton 
Rowan never was an attainted traitor. It is true 
that in '98 he left Ireland for a little time ; but on 
his return no charge was brought against him. 
He now holds a high position, is a magistrate of 
his county, and has twice served the office of high 
sheriff." 

James was astounded, and as Brougham retired, 
caught his brother by the arm, saying, "Ah, Dan, 
Dan, I do not think he is a magistrate, or ever was 
high sheriff." 



i66 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

" Hold 3^our tongue, you bosthoon ! " said Dan. 
" What does it matter whether he was or not \ If 
he wasn't, it will take three days to contradict 
it, and the whole business will be forgotten before 
that." There were no railways or telegraphs in 
those days. 

Sir James also told me of a Mr. Tomkins Brew, 
a well-known, and very popular magistrate in the 
county of Clare, who, Avhen giving evidence before 
a committee of the House of Lords on crime in 
Ireland, was asked whether he knew much about 
the Koman Catholic priesthood. He replied, " I do 
not think, my lords, there is a man in Ireland that 
knows more about them than I do." 

"I think I know a great deal about them, Mr. 
Brew," said Lord Koden. 

'' Ah ! my lord," said Brew^, '' did 3^ou ever sleep 
between a parish priest and his coadjutor ? " 

Another of his stories was of a very conceited 
upstart young fellow, who, just after he had got a 
commission in the Cork Militia, ^vas strutting about 
as proud as a peacock in his new uniform. He met 
a simple countr}^ lad, known as " Tom the fool.'' " I 
hardly think you know me, Tom,'' said he. " Bedad, 
I do know you," said Tom. "I'd know your skin on 
a bush ; but I hardl}^ think you know yourself, 
Masther Bob." 

The same youth had, one morning, ordered his 



'BRIGHT ABOUT FACE'' 167 

men to fall in for parade ; one fellow lagged behind, 
and was very slowly coming up when all the others 
were in position. "What are you dawdling there 
for, Sullivan," said he ; " fall in at once." " Begorra," 
answered Sullivan, " Masther Bob, you're in such a 
hurry you'd think the French was coming." 

He told me also of the characteristic way in 
which an officer of the Ayrshire Fencibles, at one 
time quartered in the south, gave the order, " Eight 
about face" to some recruits, whose left legs were 
marked with chalk, as was the custom then, to 
distinguish them from the right. He gave the word 
thus, " iVyrshire Fencibles, your back to the north, 
your face to the south, chalked leg foremost — 
March ! " 

Sir James O'Connell was, what was rare in 
Ireland then, but far from uncommon now, a Con- 
servative Koman Catholic. The last time I had the 
pleasure of meeting him was as we travelled together 
on the "Kakes of Mallow," a coach which plied 
daily between Cork and Mallow ; he was going, he 
said, to consult his solicitor, as to whether he could 
bring an action against a priest who had, on the 
previous Sunday, denounced him in chapel about 
some land business ; the chapel was on an outlying 
property of his, so he sent for one of his herds, who 
lived there, and asked, " Were you at Mass last 
Sunday?" 



i68 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Herd. " I was, yer honour." 

Sir J, " Did Father S say anything about 

me?" 

Herd. " Well, he did mention your honour." 

Sir J. '' What did he say ? " 

Herd. " Well now, your honour, I'm afeared you 
might be offinded if I tould you." 

Sir J. " Is'ot a bit. You must tell me at once, as 
exactly as you can, what he said." 

Herd. " Well now, he told us all to go down on 
our knees, and pray to God to change the heart of 
that cruel, tyrannical, old robber, James O'Connell." 

Sir J. "Whatdidj^oudo?" 

Herd. "Why then, indeed, I went down on my 
knees and prayed strong for your honour." 

On this same " Rakes of Mallow " coach I some- 
times travelled with John Dillon Croker, of Qarters- 
town, a clever and useful county gentleman, but, 
without exception, the greatest talker I ever met; 
it was impossible " to get a word in edgeways." So 
great was his volubility that his own children could 
not sometimes help laughing at him, and the country 
people wondered " how he got wind for it all." One 
very wet morning he travelled inside the coach, 
while his son Harry and I, well wrapped up, were 
outside. When we stopped at Ballinamona to 
change horses, to our surprise out of the coach he 
came, and got up outside with us. " AYhy on earth, 



BEATEN AT LAST 169 

father," said Harry, " do you come out in this down- 
pour % " " Indeed," said he, " there was an old lady 
in the coach who talked so much that I could stand 
it no longer." " Oh, father," said his son, " are you 
beaten at last ? " 

On another journey he said that a lady who was 
in the coach with him was the most agreeable fellow- 
passenger he had ever travelled with. The lady was 
deaf and dumb ; he had not perceived it. 



70 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTER XII 

A proselytizing clergyman — Some examples of religious intol- 
erance — An inverse repentance — The true faith — The rail- 
-vvay mania — Famine of 1846 — Mrs. Norton solves a difficulty 
— The old Beefsteak Club — A pleasant dinner-party. 

In the 3^ear 18tl:4: the rector of a parish near us 

was, on his death, succeeded by the Rev. Mr. A , 

who shortly afterwards went in for proselytizing — 
a system which, as far as my experience goes, has 
never done the slightest good in Ireland, but often 
a great deal of harm by stirring up religious animosi- 
ties, which have done endless mischief to our country, 
and which it ought to be the aim of every Irishman 
to allay. Since my early days I have seen a vast 
improvement in everything but intolerance in re- 
ligion ; that, I grieve to say, is as strong as ever. 
It is sad to-day to see our people still, as Lady Mor- 
gan says they were in her days — 

" . . .a glorious nation, 
A splendid peasantry on fruitful sod, 
Fighting like divils for conciliation, 
And hating one another for the love of God." 

Mr. A , with other proselytizing clergymen. 



(2UEER CONVERTS 171 

of whom happily there \yere not many, did succeed 
in getting a few converts, such as tliey were ; but in 
most cases, when they found that they did not 
obtain the temporal advantages which they supposed 
would follow their conversion, they soon returned to 
their former faith. 

Many stories — how true I do not know — were 
told of Mr. A and his wonderful would-be con- 
verts. Here are two. 

An old widow, Bryan, called on him, and on being 
shown into his library and asked by him what her 
business was, she said, " Well now, your raverence, 
it's what — I'd like to turn Protestant." 

Mr. A. "Why do you wish to change your re- 
ligion ? " 

Widow B. " Well now, I'm told your raverence 
gives a blanket and a leg of mutton to any one that 
turns." 

Mr. A. " Do you mean to say that you would sell 
your soul for a blanket ? " 

Widow B. " No, your raverence, not without the 
leg of mutton." 

Another day a countryman called on him and 
said, "I'm come to give myself up to your raver- 
ence because I'm unasy in my mind about my 
religion." 

Mr. A. " What particular points are you uneasy 
about?" 



172 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Countryman. "Well now, your raverence, it's no 
particular points that is tliroublin' me ; it's a sort of 
giniral unaysiness." 

On further questioning him it came out that 
what he really wanted was money or employment. 

Mr. A. "I'll promise you nothing whatever. Do 
you think I'm like Mahomet, to take converts on 
any terms ? " 

Coimtryman. "And won't I get anything for 
turning ? " 

Mr. A. "Nothing. Go away; I'm ashamed of 
you." 

Coimtryman. "Well, God bless your raverence 
anyway ; and maybe your raverence would tell me 
where that Mr. Mahomet stops." 

One of his converts, James Ryan, known as Jim 
Lar, I knew well. After trying Protestantism for a 
fortnight he had reverted to his ancient faith. " Jim 
Lar," I said to him, " you seem to be very unstable 
in your religious views. I hear you were a Prot- 
estant a fortnight ago, and that you are now again 
a Roman Catholic." " Well now, your honour," said 
^he, "sure you wouldn't like me to be damning my 
soul and getting nothing for it." 

I shall attempt to give a few odd examples of the 
height to which religious party feeling runs amongst 
the lower classes. E'ot very long ago an old Orange- 
man, in the county of Down, was asked, " Are the 



RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE 173 

times as good now, Tom, as when yon were a boy ? " 
" Faith, they are not," answered Tom ; " they'd take 
you np now and try yon for shooting a Papist." 

A farmer in the same county was summoned 
before a bench of mao^istrates for not having' his 
name printed on the shaft of his cart; he said he 
didn't know it was the law, he was a loyal man, and 
wouldn't break the law" on any account. They read 
him the section of the Act, which requires the name 
and address of the owner to be printed on the shaft 
" in Roman letters one inch long." ^' Eoman letters ! " 
said he. ^' Roman letters! To hell with the pope !" 

A Roman Catholic clergyman told me of a 
woman in Cork w^ho was complaining to her priest 
of the misconduct of her son ; that he was always 
fighting, gambling, and drinking, and often beat 
her w^hen he was drunk. "Ah," said the priest, 
"is he a Catholic at all?" "Begorra, your raver- 
ence," said she, " it's wdiat he's too good a Catholic. 
If that boy had his will, he'd stick every Protestant 
from here to Tralee." 

A Protestant clergyman, who had a living in the 
north of Ireland, on visiting one of his parishioners 
who was very ill, in fact on his death-bed, was told 
by the man that he was quite happy, and quite willing 
to die, but that there was one little thing annoying 
him for many years. The clergyman advised him not 
to worry himself about it, whatever it was ; he was 



174 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

sure, if it was wrong, he had repented of it. "It's 
not troubling me, your raverence, in that way," 
said he ;' " it's only annoying me a wee bit. I'll tell 
your raverence what it is. In the big fight we had 
with the Papists thirty years ago, I had a priest 
covered with my gun, and something came over me 
that I didn't pull the trigger; and that's what's 
annoying me ever since." 

In a well-known parish, in the province of 
Leinster, a handsome new church was built some 
thirty j^ears ago. In the stained-glass window at 
the east end were the twelve apostles. Some of the 
Orangemen and extreme Low Churchmen in the 
parish, being scandalized at these (as they called 
them) " emblems of popery," smashed the windows. 
Many years after, an old parishioner, on his death- 
bed, said to the rector, who was visiting him, " Well, 
now, your raverence, hadn't we the real fun the 
day we broke the windows in the church ? " " That 
was before my time," said the rector." " So it was, 
so it was," said the old man; "and more is the 
pity." Then he began to laugh, and added, " I 
stuck my stick right through St. Peter's eye." 

The Kev. Doctor McGettigan, the late worthy 
Koman Catholic Bishop of Kaphoe, often told of 
an incident which occurred when he was parish 
priest, I think, of Killybegs. "I was suddenly 
called," he said, "from my home to see an un- 



EMBLEMS OF POPERY 175 

fortunate sailor who had been cast ashore from 
a wreck, and was lying speechless on the ground, 
but not quite dead. The people standing by 
said, ' The life's in him still, your raverence ; he 
stirred a little.' So I stooped down and said to him, 
' My poor man, you're nearly gone ; but just try to 
say one little word, or make one little sign to show 
that you are dying in the true faith.' So he opened 
one of his eyes just a wee bit, and he said, ' To hell 
with the pope!' and he died." 

Another story of the bishop's, of quite a different 
kind, was this. He had slept one night at a farm- 
house in a remote part of his diocese, and was 
awakened very early in the morning by some one 
calling out several times, "Who are you?" To 
which he answered, "I am the most Reverend 
Doctor McGettigan, Bishop of Eaphoe, the oldest 
bishop in Ireland ; indeed, I believe I may say the 
oldest bishop in Her Majesty's dominions." To 
which the same voice replied, " How is your mother ? " 
" My poor dear mother, God rest her soul ! " said 
the bishop, " died twenty years ago last Candlemas." 
The voice repeated twice in rapid succession, " How 
is your mother? " He sat up in bed to see who the 
inquirer was, and beheld a grey parrot in a large 
cage by the window. 

In the old days of the Orange Corporation in 
Dublin, the pedestal of the equestrian statue of 



176 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

William III. in College Green, was painted orange 
and blue. On the anniversary of the battle of the 
Boyne the statue was decked with orange lilies and 
orange ribbons, and on the pedestal, below the up- 
lifted foot of the horse, w^as placed a bow of green 
ribbon. " Ah," said a man passing by, '' see what 
respect the baste shows to the green ! See how he 
keeps his foot up in that unasy posture, for fear he 
might thrample on it ! " 

Some pikes w^hich had been found concealed were 
exhibited at a Conservative meeting in Dublin. 
Some one cried out, "A groan for the pikes." A 
voice from the crowd replied, "A bloody end to 
them ! " 

Anj^thing suggests politics. My father told me 
that at a theatre in Dublin, shortly after the Union, 
when a well-known actress was singing a favourite 
song, the refrain of which was '' My heart goes pit- 
a-pat, pit-a-pat," a man from the gallery cried, " A 
groan for Pitt, and a cheer for Pat ! " 

In the year 1845 came the railway mania. Pro- 
spectuses in hundreds appeared, holding out the most 
enticing inducements to the public to take shares. 
One line was to develop the resources of Ballyhooly, 
a miserable village in the county of Cork ; another 
to promote and encourage the cockle trade at Sandy- 
mount, where there is a strand on which, at low 
water, may be seen a dozen old women gathering 



A RAILWAY MANIA 177 

cockles. All over the country, engineers and sur- 
veyors were levelling and surveying. One of these, 
an assistant of Sir John MacNeill, was so engaged 
near Thurles, when a farmer, on whose land he was 
working, said to him, " May I make so bould, sir, as 
to ax what brings you here, and what you are 
doing ? " " I'm laying out a railway," said he. 
"Begorra," said the farmer, "you are the fifth of 
them that has been here this week, and it's what it's 
my belief there isn't an idle blackguard in Dublin 
that has nothing to do that isn't sent down here to 
lay out railroads." 

One of the surveyors was taking levels in a village 
where the road was so steep that the levelling staff 
had to be held within a few yards of him. As he 
looked at the staff, which was held by one McEvoy, 
through the telescope of his level, he heard a woman 
at her cottage door calling to her husband, "Ah, 
then, Jim, come here and look at this. You never 
seen the like before. Here's a gintleman making a 
map of Mickey McEvoy." 

Shortly before the years of famine, which began 
in 1846, our home at Abington was broken up by 
the death of my father. He died in 1845. Great 
as was his loss to us, I have often since felt glad 
that he was spared the grief and pain of those terri- 
ble years, when he would have had famine and 
fever on every side, and would have seen the poor 



178 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

people, to whom he had endeared himself by a 
thousand acts of kindness, and who were very dear 
to him, dying by hundreds around him, and enduring 
sufferings which, had he spent his all, as he would 
have gladly done, he ayouM have been powerless to 
relieve. 

During those years, though my residence was in 
Dublin, I travelled a great deal through the country, 
and witnessed manv a heart-rending scene, never to 
be forgotten ; but as they would pain the feelings of 
my readers, I shall only relate the incidents of two 
consecutive da3^s. As I, with my assistant engineer, 
was walking along the railway works which had just 
been commenced near Mallow, and which during the 
remainder of the famine gave much employment and 
relief, Ave passed near the old churchyard at Burn- 
fort. Several dogs were fighting and howling there ; 
my assistant ran down to see AA^hat they Avere about. 
He found them fighting over the bodies of some poor 
creatures Avho had died of famine, and had that 
morning been buried — if buried it can be called — 
Avithout coffins, and so close to the surface, that they 
were barely covered with earth. We had coffins 
made for them, and had them buried at a proper 
depth. J^Text day, as I rode again from Cork to Mal- 
loAv, I Avent into the Half-Avay House for a few min- 
utes ; a poor Avoman, barefooted and miserably clad, 
Avith three children, came in. So stricken AA^th fam- 



THE OLD BEEFSTEAK CLUB . 179 

ine was she, that she could scarcely speak. I ordered 
coffee and bread for them. ]^o sooner had she taken 
a little than she fainted. At first we thought she 
was dead, but after a little time we brought her 
round. The same night I had to start for London ; 
and next evening saw a carpet spread across the 
footway to the carriage way, lest the damp should 
chill the feet or soil the shoes of some fashionable 
lady. The contrast was a painful one. Are there 
no such contrasts to-day within the great city itself? 
It was on one of my visits to London later on — 
in the year 1861, 1 think — that I met my old friend, 
Mr. Fred. Ponsonby (now Lord Bessborough) in the 
lobby of the House of Commons. He asked me, if 
I had no otlier engagement, to dine with him at the 
Beefsteak Club on the following Saturday. "We 
dine," he said, "at the primitive hour of six; but 
you will get away at ten." I accepted his invitation 
with pleasure, and thought no more about it till the 
Saturday forenoon, when I turned to the directory 
to find the address of the club ; but there was no 
mention of it there. I then made inquiries of some 
friends ; some of them had never heard of it ; others 
had, but did not know w^here it was. I was in a 
strait what to do. I did not know where Ponsonby 
was staying, so could not ask him. In my difficulty 
I bethought me of Mrs. ISTorton. " She will know, 
or will find out for me," I thouo^ht. So off to her 



i8o SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

house in Chesterfield Street, I went. Fortunately I 
found her at home. I asked her if she knew any- 
thing about the club. 

"I ought to know about it," she said, "for my 
father and my grandfather " (K. B. Sheridan) " were 
members of it. One of their rules is that they must 
meet under the roof of a theatre. They were burnt 
out of old Drury Lane, and out of other theatres, 
and where they now meet I do not know ; but Cole 
will tell us." So she rang for Cole, her maid. When 
she appeared, Mrs. Norton said, " Cole, Avhere does 
the Beefsteak Club dine at present T' 

" At the Lyceum, ma'am," replied Cole. " You 
go in by a green door at the back of the theatre." 

" That will do, Cole." 

As soon as she had left the room I said, " In the 
name of all that's wonderful, how does Cole know 
all this ? Is she a witch ? " 

" Cole has changed her name since you saw her 
last," she said. " She is noAV Mrs. Smithson, though 
I still call her Cole. Her husband is a waiter, who 
attends dinner parties, and I thought he might have 
told her something about this club." 

At six o'clock I was at the green door, and on 
entering found my host and other members of the 
club, and two guests. 

As the original club ceased to exist some five 
and twenty years ago, some account of my recollec- 



''BEEF AND LIBERTY'' i8i 

tion of it may not be uninteresting to mj" readers. 
It consisted, I think, of twenty or four and twenty 
members, and my friend told me that latterly they 
seldom dined more than twelve or fourteen. The 
day I was there we were twelve, three of whom 
were guests — the late Lord Strathmore, who was, 
I think, made a member of the club that evening ; 
Fechter, the famous actor; and myself. In the 
middle of the ceiling, over the dinner-table, was 
the original gridiron, which had been rescued from 
the ruins of the theatres out of which the club had 
been burnt. In large gold letters round the gridiron 
were the words, "Beef and Liberty." The same 
words were woven in the centre of the tablecloth, 
and engraved on all the plates and dishes, and they 
appeared again in gold on the wall at the end of the 
room, through a sort of portcullis in which 3^ou saw 
the beefsteaks being cooked. Over this portcullis 
were the words, " If it were done, when 'tis done, 

THEN 'twere well IT WERE DONE QUICKLY." With 

the exception of a welch -rarebit as second course, 
the dinner consisted of beefsteaks, and beefsteaks 
only. These came in in quick succession, two 
by two, one Avell done, the other rather under-done, 
so as to suit all palates. The drink was porter and 
port wine, which went round in flagons. The 
conversation was general, and full of fun. 

After dinner the chairman brewed a huge bowl 



1 82 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

of punch — whether of brandy or of whisky, I forget ; 
the vice-chamnan a smaller one of rum. From the 
bowls jugs were filled, one of which was placed 
before each of those at table. There were about 
the room many old theatrical properties of various 
sorts ; amongst them dresses Avhich had been worn 
by actors famous in days of yore. 

The chairman wore a cloak and hat which Garrick 
had worn in Hamlet. There were only two or three 
toasts proposed, one of which was the health of 
the guests. After this had been drunk with enthu- 
siasm, the chairman said, "It is the custom here 
that the guests shall rise and return thanks simul- 
taneously." We three rose and declared simultane- 
ously, but each in his own words, how deeply we 
felt the kind manner in which our health had 
been drunk. The chairman then rose again and 
said, " I now propose that the excellent speeches, 
which have just been delivered by our eloquent 
guests, be printed and circulated at the expense of 
the club. As many as are of that opinion will say, 
' Aye.' " There was a chorus of " Ayes." " As 
many as are of the contrary opinion will say, ' No.' " 
Xot a single ''No," or dissentient voice. Where- 
upon the chairman solemnly said, " The ' Noes ' have 
it." After that, till ten o'clock, " the night drave 
on wi' sangs and clatter," when we separated, after 
as pleasant an evening as I ever spent. 



SMITH O'BRIEN'S REBELLION 183 



CHAPTER XIII 

Smith O'Brien's rebellion — Louis Philippe's interview with the 
Queen, as seen by the Boy Jones — Plain fare and pleasant — 
Married by mistake — A time for everything — A pagan altar- 
piece — Drawing the long-bow — Proof against cross-ex- 
amination — Fooling the English — Larceny, or trespass ? 

In 1848 I went to live at Eathpeacon House, near 
Cork, as I Avas then engaged in carrying out the 
completion of the Great Southern and Western 
Railway to that city. 

At the time of my arrival, the French Revolution 
had just broken out, and all through the south, es- 
pecially in "Rebel Cork," there was the wildest 
excitement. A rebellion under Smith O'Brien and 
the other Young Ireland leaders was daily expected. 
A revolution in England, too, was hoped for; but 
this hope was extinguished by the suppression of 
the great Chartist meeting in London, and all chance 
of a successful rebellion in Ireland ended with the 
arrest of Smith O'Brien and the dispersion of his 
followers, after the abortive rising at Slievenaman. 
It was here that, on being ordered to attack a police 
barrack garrisoned by half a dozen constables, his 



1 84 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

gallant troops replied, ''Is it what your honour 
wants us to go up there to be shot ? " and thereupon 
fled, leaving their general alone. 

In Cork many Young Irelanders were arrested, 
amongst them a friend of mine, Michael Joseph 
Barry, a clever young barrister, who had written 
some stirring songs and pleasant Irish stories, and 
whom I visited several times when he was in 
prison. 

It will be remembered that about that time a 
boy named Jones had been found two or three times 
concealed in Buckingham Palace, not, as it came 
out, with any felonious intentions, but simply from 
curiosity. It will also be remembered that when 
Louis Philippe fled from France, nothing was heard 
of him for some days; and as all the world won- 
dered what had become of him, Barry wrote the fol- 
lowing squib, supposed to be from the boy Jones, 
which appeared in the Southern Reporter^ then, as 
now, an influential Liberal newspaper in Cork : — 

"THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 

" To the Editor of the Southern Reporter 

"Mr. Editor, 

" My mother being a BLackpool woman, I wish to give you 
the first news of what happened between Louis Philippe and 
Ler Grayshus Majesty. I was behind a curtain listenin' to the 
dialogue on Friday evening. 



LOUIS PHILIPPE'S EXPERIENCES 185 

' My dear Vic, ses he, 
I'm mighty sick, ses he, 
For I've cut my stick, ses he, 
Tarnation quick, ses he. 
From the divil's breeze, ses he, 
At the Tooleyrees, ses he ; 
For the blackguards made, ses he, 
A barricade, ses he. 
They're up to the trade, ses he, 
And I was afraid, ses he. 
And greatly in dread, ses he, 
I'd lose my head, ses he ; 
And if I lost that, ses he, 
I'd have no place for my hat, ses he. 

' Stop a while, ses she ; 
Take off your tile, ses she. 
You're come a peg down, ses she, 
By the loss of your crown, ses she. 

' Mille pardon, ses he, 
For keepin' it on, ses he ; 
But my head isn't right, ses he. 
Since I took to flight, ses he ; 
For the way was long, ses he, 
And I'm not over sthrong, ses he. 

* Indeed, my ould buck, ses she, 
You look mighty shuck, ses she. 

' You may say I am, ses he ; 
I'm not worth a damn, ses he. 
Till I get a dhram, ses he, 
And a cut of mate, ses he ; 
For I'm dead bate, ses he. 
I'm as cowld as ice. ses he. 



1 86 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

' Never say it twice, ses she ; 
I'll get you a slice, ses she, 
Of something nice, ses she; 
And we'll make up a bed, ses she, 
In the room overhead, ses she. 

*I like a mathrass, ses he. 
Or a pallyass, ses he ; 
But in my present pass, ses he. 
Anything of the kind, ses he, 
I shouldn't much mind, ses he.' 

" Here a grand waither dhressed all in goold brought in the 
ateables. Her Majesty helped Looey to some cowld ham, which 
he tucked in as if he hadn't tasted a bit since he left the Tooley- 
rees. By degrees he lost his appetite and found his tongue, but 
he didn't like talking while the waither was there, so he touched 
her Majesty, and ses he in an undertone — 

' Bid that flunkey go, ses he, 
And I'll let you know, ses he, 
About my overthrow^, ses he.' 

" So the Queen made a sign wdth her hand, and the flunkey 
tuck himself off with a very bad grace, as if he'd have liked to 
be listening. When the door was shut Looey went on — 

*■ 'Twas that Guizot, ses he — 
That chap you knew, ses he. 
When we were at Eu, ses he. 
At our interview, ses he. 

' Is that thrue V ses she. 
I thought he and you, ses she. 
Were always as thick, ses she. 

As — 



LOUIS PHIUPPE^S EXPERIENCES 187 

'Don't say pickpockets, Vic, ses he. 
Indeed, we wor friends, ses he, 
And had the same ends, ses he. 
Always in view, ses he ; 
But we little knew, ses he. 
That a Paris mob, ses he. 
Would spoil our job, ses he. 
They're the divil's lads, ses he — 
What you call Rads, ses he ; 
But your Rads sing small, ses he. 
Before powdher and ball, ses he, 
While mine don't care a jot, ses he. 
For round or grape shot, ses he. 
Well, those chaps of mine, ses he. 
They wanted to dine, ses he, 
And to raise up a storm, ses he, 
About getting reform, ses he ; 
Which isn't the thing, ses he, 

For a citizen king, ses he. 

Or a well-ordhered state, ses he, 

To tolerate, ses he. 

So says I to Guizot, ses he, 

We must sthrike a blow, ses he. 

Ses Guizot, You're right, ses he, 

For they'll never fight, ses he ; 

They're sure to be kilt, ses he. 

By them forts you built, ses he ; 

And the throops is thrue, ses he. 

And they'll stand to you, ses he. 

Then ses I to Guizot, ses he. 

Proclaim the banquo, ses he. 

And let them chaps know, ses he, 

That Reform's no go, ses he. 

But bad luck to our haste, ses he, 
For stoppin' the faste, ses he, 



i88 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

For the people riz, ses he. 
And that's how it is, ses he, 
That you find me here, ses he, 
At this time of year, ses he, 
Hard up for a bed, ses he, 
To rest my head, ses he. 

' Did you save you tin ? ses she. 

'Did I? (with a grin), ses he. 
Faix, it's I that did, ses he. 
For I had it hid, ses he. 
Lest a storm should burst, ses he. 
To be fit for the worst, ses he.' 

"Here Looey stopped, and little Lord Johnny, who had 
been peepin' in at the door, walked into the room, just as the 
Queen, w^ho had caught sight of him, put up her finger for him 
to come in. Looey rose up to meet him. 

'■ Are you there, ses he, 
My little Premier? ses he. 
Gad ! you're lookin' ill, ses he. 
Troth, I am, King Phil, ses he. 
Would you cash a bill, ses he, 
For a couple of mille ? ses he. 
I've no tin in the till, ses he. 
Good night, ses Phil, ses he. 
I've a cowld in my head, ses he, 
And I'll go to bed, ses he.' 

" And he walked out of the room in a great hurry, leaving 
Lord Johnny in a great foosther, and indeed her Majesty didn't 
look over well pleased : but there the matter ended. 



FATHER HORGAJV 189 

" P. S. — You'll hear that Looey wasn't in London at all, 
but you may thrust to the thruth of the above. 

" Yours to command, 

"The Boy Jones." 

It was some time after this a western member 
of Parliament, who thought he knew French well, 
went to Paris with a deputation of Irishmen to pre- 
sent an address to Louis Xapoleon. The member 
of Parliament addressed Napoleon in French, but 
had not gone far when JSTapoleon said he must 
ask him to be so good as to speak English, which 
he understood, as he did not understand Irish. 

About a mile from my house at Rathpeacon lived 
Father Horgan, the good old parish priest of Blarney, 
a fine sample of a Poman Catholic priest of former 
days, and as worthy a man as ever lived. He 
was well known as an Irish scholar and antiquarian, 
and such was his interest in and love for the old 
round towers of Ireland that he determined to build 
a fac-simile of one in his chapel-yard as a mausoleum 
for himself. It is not, however, so like its prototype 
as he meant it to be. The difference arose in this 
way. A large subscription had been made in the 
parish for its erection, and Father Horgan rashly 
began to build before he had sufficiently considered 
whether he had enough to finish. When the tower 
had risen to one-half its height the funds began to 
fail, and as he either could not or would not raise 



190 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

more money in the parish, he had to cut his coat 
according to his cloth, and was forced to diminish 
its diameter. Its appearance as it stands is not 
unlike that of a gigantic champagne bottle. 

Father Horgan Avas the soul of hospitality, and 
gave many a dinner party, where all sorts and 
conditions of men were wont to meet ; at the upper 
end of his table were clergy and gentry of the 
neighbourhood, peasant farmers at the lower. The 
eatables were alike for all — alternate dishes of 
chicken and bacon all down the table. With the 
drinkables it was different; there was wine at 
the upper end, whisky (which they preferred) for 
the farmers at the lower. He said to me, "You 
see, my dear friend, I don't know how to order a 
big dinner with all sorts of dishes ; and if I did, old 
Bridget could not cook it. So I just have a pair 
of chickens and then a dish of bacon and greens, 
then another pair of chickens and another dish of 
bacon and greens, and so on all the Avay down. 
Every one likes chickens and bacon, and when a man 
sees these before him he looks for nothing else. I 
am saved a world of trouble, and every one seems 
happy and contented." And so they were, and 
right pleasant those homely dinners were — quite as 

pleasant as those given by a Mr. A , a wealthy 

solicitor in Dublin, famous for his cook and for the 
excellence and abundance of his wine, especially his 
claret- 



A PLEASANT PARTY 191 

A few of the most agreeable men in Dublin met 
at one of these parties and spent a thoroughly enjoy- 
able evening. A few days afterwards Chief Justice 
Doherty, w^ho had been one of the guests, met Mr. 

A , and said to him, " What a pleasant party we 

had with you last Tuesday ! " " Do you call that a 

pleasant party ? " said A . '^ I don't." " Why 

not 'i " said Doherty. " Too much talk, too much 
talk, you couldn't enjoy your wine, you drank little 
more than a bottle each. On Wednesday I had 
nine men to dinner, and they drank three bottles a 
man ; and you'd have heard a pin drop the whole 
time. That's what /call a pleasant party." 

Amongst my friends in Cork was another priest, 
Father O'Sullivan, generally known as " Father 
Rufus " from his red hair. He gave me the follow- 
ing account of a wedding at wdiich he was called 
upon to officiate in a hurry. Just as he had put on 
his hat and coat and was leaving his house to drive 
to Passage, where he was engaged to dine, a young 
couple met him at his door and said they had come 
to be married ; they showed him their papers of 
authority for him to marry them, w^iich were all 
right. He told them to come early next morning, 
as he was in too great a hurry then ; but they said 
they were in a greater hurry, as they were going 
to America, and had to start for Liverpool by the 
Cork steamer that evening. So he brought them 



192 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

into his sitting-room, told them to kneel down, and 
commenced to read the service. When he had gone 
on for a while the young man said, " I don't know, 
your raverence, whether it makes any difference, but 
I'm only a witness in the case. The boy himself 
will be here directly." I am greatly afraid, from 
what Father Kufus told me, the ceremony had gone 
so far that the witness, before he had interrupted, 
was married to the girl ; but if this was so it never 
was divulged. The right boy very soon arrived, the 
ceremony was performed de novo^ and the happy 
bride, with her husband (number two), was in time 
for the Liverpool boat. ^N'ot so lucky was his 
reverence, who was much put out by losing his good 
dinn-er at Passage. Priests are, after all, but men, 
and dislike as much as others being disturbed just at 
or immediately before or after meal-times. 

Father H , the pleasantest of all priests, past 

or present, gave me an instance of this kind, when 
his temper was sorely tried. Amongst his parish- 
ioners, was Tom Burns, a drunken fellow, who, 
Avhen in his cups, was violent, and often beat his 
wife. One cold and stormy winter's evening, Father 

H , having had his dinner, had settled himself 

snugly by his bright fireside, and was just brewing 
his tumbler of whisky punch, when his servant 
rushed into his room, crying out, " Your raverence 
is wanted out instantly. Tom Burns is killing his 



FATHER H '5 HOLY VOICE 193 

wife, and if you're not there at once she will be 
dead." Down he ran to the cottage, and on his 
arrival found that they had succeeded in quieting 
Tom, who was lying in a state of drunken exhaustion 

on his bed. Father H was in no frame of mind 

to speak gently to him ; his language, I fear, was 
not quite clerical, " blackguard," '^ drunken ruffian " 
being about his mildest expressions. Tom turned 
his face to the wall, and in a meek and humble voice 
said, " Go aAvay, your raverence, go away. I'm not 
in a fit state to listen to your holy voice." 

To return to Father Kufus, one of his oldest 
friends was Father Prout, the eccentric parish priest 
of Ardnagehy, in the county of Cork ; it was from 
him that Father Frank Mahony took his well-known 
nom de phtme, under which he wrote so charmingly. 
When Father Rufus was in Rome studying for the 
Church, old Prout came there to purchase an altar- 
piece for his chapel — a subscription had been raised 
for the purpose — and called on him to ask his 
assistance and advice. He went with him to many 
dealers and artists Avhom he knew ; but, after a long 
day's search, nothing was found to satisfy his friend. 
A few days afterwards Prout called again to say he 
had just found exactly what he wanted ; but, before 
buying it, he would like Father Rufus to see it, and 
give his opinion. When he saw it he exclaimed, 
" Why, man, that is a Diana I " "I don't care what 



194 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

it is," said Prout ; " it's lovely, and I'll have it ; 
those chaps of mine at Ardnagehy will never know 
the difference." 

In giving answers the Irish peasantry, as a rule, 
have no great regard for truth, but like to give the 
answer which they think will be most agreeable 
to the questioner. A poor Italian organ-grinder, 
weary after the long walk, asked a peasant whom he 
met near Carricktuohil how far he was from Cork. 
" Just four short miles," was the answer. " What 
do you mean," said Father Kufus, who happened to 
pass at the time, " by deceiving the poor fellow ? 
You know well enough it's eight long miles." 
'' Sure, your raverence," said the other, " I seen 
the poor boy was tired, and I wanted to keep his 
courage up. If he heard your raverence — but I'm 
plazed to think he didn't — he'd be down-hearted 
entirely." 

A story which is well known in Kerry was told 

me long ago by a Mr. R , of Tralee. He was 

shooting with an English friend, a Mr. B . They 

had very little sport ; so Mr. B said, " I'll ask 

this countryman whether there are any birds about 

here." '' '^o use to ask him," said Mr. R ; " he'll 

only tell you lies." *' I'll ask him, at all events," 

said Mr. B . ''My good man, are there any 

birds about here ? " " Lots of birds, your honour," 
said he. " Tell me what sort of birds \ " " Well 



QUEER GAME 195 

now, your honour, there's grouses, and woodcocks, 
and snipes, and ducks, and pillibines, and all sorts of 

birds." " Ask him," whispered E , " whether 

there are any thermometers." " Tell me," said 

B , " do you ever see any thermometers here ? " 

" Well now, your honour, if there was a night's 
frost, the place would be alive with them." 

Many years afterwards, as I drove with my wife 
from Killarney to Kenmare, I told her this story. 
She said she could hardly believe it. I said, " I'll 
try with this boy, and you'll see he'll say much the 
same." So I said to the bare-legged boy who was 
running along beside the carriage — 

'' What is the name of the little river near us ? " 

Boy. " 'Tis the Finnhry, your honour." 

" Are there many fish in it ? " 

Boy. " There is, your honour." 

''What sort of fish?" 

Boy. "There do be throuts and eels, your 
honour." 

" Any salmon ? " 

Boy. " There do be an odd one." 

" Any white trout ? " 

Boy. '' There do be a good lot of them." 

" Any thermometers ? " 

Boy. "Them does be there, too, your honour; 
but they comes up lather in the season than the 
white throuts." 



196 SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIFE 

At Carrigtuoliil, which I mentioned just now, I 
got a curious answer. It often is hard to get from 
a peasant the meaning of the Irish name of a place. 
This probably arises from the name having been a 
good deal changed from what it originally had 
been. For instance, ^'Tipperary" was originally 
Tubber Ara (the Well of Ara) ; "Eaduane" was 
Kathduffown (the Fort of the Black Kiver). I 
asked a country fellow, "What is the English of 
Carrigtuohil ? " "I never heard any English or 
Irish name upon it, only Carrigtuohil alone," said 
he. " I know," said I, " it has no other name, but 
I want to know the meaning of the name." " Well 
now, your honour," he answered, " I never heard 
any meaning for it only Carrigtuohil alone." " I 
know ' Carrig ' means a rock," I said ; " but what 
does ^ tuohil ' mean ? " " Well now, your honour, 
it's what I can't tell you why its called Carrigtuohil, 
unless it's because Mr. Coppinger lives beloAv there 
in Barry's Court." 

Amongst the leading counsel engaged for and 
against the Great Southern Kailway Company, who 
w^ere purchasing land for their line in the county of 
Tipperary, were Fitzgibbon and Eolleston. They, 
with two or three others, were out for a walk, one 
fine Sunday afternoon, and sat down to rest on 
a sunny bank in a field near Templemore. Rolles- 
ton pointed out the spot in an adjoining field where 



A DIFFICULT WITNESS 197 

a Mr. E had been murdered some time before. 

Two men had been tried for the murder, but were 
not convicted, though it was well known through 
the country that they were the murderers. Rolles- 
ton had been counsel for the prosecution. 

"Ah," said Fitzgibbon, "if I had been in that 
case I'd have got a conviction." 

" Why do you think so \ " said Eolleston. 

" Because," said Fitzgibbon, " I would have broken 
down the witnesses for the defence on cross-exami- 
nation. I never saw a lying witness that I could 
not break down." 

It was quite true that Fitzgibbon was a very 
powerful cross-examiner; but it was supposed that 
he somewhat overrated his powers. 

" Well," said Rolleston, " try your hand on that boy 
standing over there ; you may be sure he knows all 
about the murder ; and I'll bet you a pound you won't 
get any satisfactory information about it from him." 

" Done," said Fitzgibbon. " Come here, my boy. 
Do you live near here ? " 

Boy. " I do, your honour ; I live in that house 
below there." 

Fitzgibbon. " Do you know Mr. E ? " 

Boy. "I do not, sir." 

Fitzgibbon. " I heard he lived near this." 

Boy. " So he did, your honour, in that big white 
house," 



198 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Fitzgibbon. " Then how is it you don't know 
him?" 

Boy. " Because he is dead, sir." 

Fitzgibbon. " I'm sorry to hear that, but are you 
sure he is dead % " 

Boy. " Didn't I see him dead ? " 

Fitzgibbon. " Where ? " 

Boy. " In that fiekl below, your honour." 

Fitzgibbon. " Did you perceive anything particular 
about him?" 

Boij. " I did." 

Fitzgibbon. "What was it?" 

Boy. " He was lying in a lough of blood, sir." 

Fitzgibbon. " Then perhaps he had been killed ? " 

Boy. " Begorra, he was killed, 3^our honour." 

Fitzgibbon. " I^ow, like a good boy, tell me did 
you ever hear how, or by whom, he was killed ? " 

Boy. " I did, your honour." 

Hereupon Fitzgibbon looked triumphantly at 
Rolleston ; and, confident that he would win his 
bet, said to the boy — 

" Now, tell me exactly what you heard ? " 

" Well, your honour, I heard it was what he fell 
asleep in the field, and a weazel sucked him." 

Upon this there was such a laugh at Fitzgibbon, 
that he gave up his examination, and handed a 
pound to Rolleston. 

I heard a very bullying counsel, Deane Freeman, 



CROSS-EXAMUVATION 199 

completely put out in his cross-examination by a 
very simple answer. 

Freeman {to Wit?iess). " So you had a pistol ? " 

Witness. " I had, sir." 

Freeiiian. " Who did you intend to shoot with it ? " 

Witness. '' 1 wasn't intending to shoot no one." 

Freeman. " Then was it for nothing that you 
got it ? " 

Witness. " No, it wasn't." 

Freeman. " Come, come, sir, on the virtue of your 
solemn oath, what did you get that pistol for?" 

Witness. " On the virtue of my solemn oath, I got 
it for three and ninepence in Mr. Kichardson's shop." 
(Much laughter in court.) 

Freeman. " Oh, how very witty you are ! You 
may go down." 

At another time he said to a witness, " You're a 
nice fellow, ain't you?" Witness replied, "I am a 
nice fellow ; and if I was not on my oath, I'd say 
the same of you." 

I was told of another witness, a labouring man, 
whose answers on his direct examination were rather 
discursive. He was asked bv the cross-examinino: 
counsel, "Now, my good man, isn't all this that 
you have been telling to my friend here only a 
hypothesis ? " 

Witness. " Well, if your honour says so, I suppose 
it was." 



200 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Counsel. "■ Come, sir, on your oath, do you know 
what a hypothesis is ? " 

Witness. '' Well, now, I think I do." 

Counsel. " Then tell me what it is ? " 

Witness. "Well, now, I think it's some part of 
the inside of a pig, but I'm not exactly shure what 
part it is." 

Judge Burton, who was a very old and Avizened 
little man, was trying a case, when another very 
old man, scarcely able to walk, came into court to 
give evidence. Instead of going to the witness-box, 
he went towards the passage leading to the bench. 
McDonagh, the counsel, called out to him. " Come 
back, sir, where are you going ? Do you think you 
are a judge?" "Indeed, sir," said the old man look- 
ing up at Judge Burton — " indeed, sir, I believe I 
am fit for little else." 

It is sometimes hard to say whether such answers 
are given in truthful simplicity or not ; but certainly 
the peasants, particularly in the south, do like to 
take in a stranger. A nephew of mine was staying 
with me, some years ago, at my fishing quarters in 
Kerry. In the evening of the day he had arrived 
he told me that young Dan Neale, then my fishing 
boy, or gillie, had given him a wonderful account 
of an enormous eel, which ran ashore near Black- 
water Pier. It was very nearly as thick as a horse, 
and it had a great mane on its neck ; he and a dozen 



THE TOURIST'S SEAT 201 

of the other men and boys had great work in killing 
it with spades and shovels. 

" He was humbugging you," said I. 

" No," said he. " It must be true ; he told me 
ever}^ detail about it, and the names of some of the 
men who helped to kill it, and he was perfectly 
serious at the time." 

Next morning, when Dan appeared, I called him 
up before my nephew, and said, "Dan Neale, did 
you ever see an enormous eel run ashore at Black- 
water Pier \ " 

" I never did, your honour," said Dan. 

" Then why did you tell me that long story about 
it?" said my nephew. 

" To be making a fool of your honour," said Dan. 

When I told this to my old friend, the late Mr. 
Valentine O'Connor, he gave me the following ac- 
count of how a young English lady, who had never 
been in Ireland before, was made a fool of by a 
Kingstown car-driver. O'Connor, who lived near 
Blackrock, about two miles from Kingstown, was 
expecting the arrival from England of a governess 
for his daughters. He and Mrs. O'Connor had just 
sat down to breakfast when an outside car drove 
past the window to the hall door, the young gov- 
erness sitting up on high in the driver's seat, while 
he sat on the side of the car. On inquiry, it came 
out that on leaving Kingstown the driver was sitting 



202 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

on one side (as they often do), and the young lady 
on the other. She pointed to the driving seat, and 
said to him, "Carman, what is that seat there for?" 
"Well, my lady," said he, "that sate up there is 
mostly for tourists. They gets ^ betther vie^y of 
the country from it than they Avould from the side 
of the car. AYe mostly charges them a shilling extra 
for it, but you seem to be such a plasin' young lady 
that you may get up into it for sixpence." So she 
paid him sixpence and got up. 

Amongst those who afforded amusement to their 
neighbours in Cork was an old lady. Miss McCall, 
generally known as "Betty McCall," who, with her 
niece, lived at a very pretty place near Glanmire. 
She was very tenacious of her rights, and was known 
to wander about with a large horse-pistol in her hand 
in quest of trespassers. She heard that some of her 
neighbours, amongst them being Mr. Abbott the 
Quaker, were in the habit of bathing, early in the 
morning, in the river that passed through her 
grounds. This annoyed and shocked her much, and 
finding that notices threatening prosecution were 
posted up in vain, she told her gardener she would 
not keep him unless by some means he put a stop to 
these dreadful practices. Having turned the matter 
over in his mind, he thought the most effectual way 
would be to conceal himself and watch for bathers 
and take away their clothes. One morning as Betty 



LARCENY OR TRESPASS f 203 

and her niece Lizzie were sitting in their bow- 
window at their early breakfast, a tall and portly 
figure, devoid of clothing, passed the window and 
rang violently at the hall door, which was quickly 
opened by her maid, but still more quickly shut; 
whereupon Mr. Abbott, for it was he, put his mouth 
to the keyhole and called out, " Tell Betty McCall 
that Brother Abbott, having done nothing whereof 
to be ashamed, has come to ask for his clothes." 
Betty took out a summons against Abbott for tres- 
pass, he against her for larceny of his clothes. Much 
amusement was expected in court, but neither case 
ever came on, as, through the interference of friends, 
a compromise was effected. 



204 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTER XIY 

Anthony Trollope: his night encounter — A race for life on an 
engine — Railway adventures — I become Commissioner of 
Public Works — Some Irish repartees and ready car-drivers 
— Rail against road — No cause for uneasiness. 

It was in Cork I first met Anthony Trollope, wlio 
was tlien an employe in the Post-office Department. 
He gave me the following account of his first visit 
to Ireland. He had been ordered to proceed at once 
to a remote village in the far west, to make inquiries 
respecting irregularities in the post-office there. 
After a weary journey, he arrived late in the after- 
noon at his destination, and had to put up at a small 
public-house, the only place of entertainment in the 
village. His bedroom was approached by a flight of 
steps, half stairs, half ladder, not far from perpen- 
dicular. The room was scantily furnished; it con- 
tained two beds close together, a table, a chair, and 
a basin-stand. Weary, after his long journey on the 
outside of a coach, he retired early, and tried to fasten 
his door, but found he could not, as it had neither 
lock nor bolt. When he went to bed it was some 
time before he slept, as he felt nervous and uncom- 



A NIGHT ENCOUNTER 205 

fortable in this strange, wild place. At last lie fell 
into an uneasy restless sort of sleep, and did not 
know how long he had been sleeping, when he 
suddenly woke up and heard a footstep stealthily 
approaching his bed. Frightened, and but half 
awake, he sprang from his bed, seized the intruder, 
and found himself grappling with a powerful man, 
clad, like himself, only in his shirt, whom he held 
so tightly by the throat that he could not speak. In 
their struggle they came to the open door, Avhere 
his antagonist stumbled and fell down the stairs. 

Aroused by the noise of the struggle and fall, the 
inmates of the house rushed into the room and struck 
a light. The moment they had done so Trollope 
heard his landlady cry out — 

" Oh, boys, that murderin' villain upstairs has 
killed his raverence ! " 

" We'll soon settle the b sassenach," said the 

men rushing to the steps ; and but for the interven- 
tion of the half-strangled priest, who had now come 
to himself, Trollope would, no doubt, have been 
lynched. 

When peace was established, apologies made and 
accepted, and an explanation given, he found that 
the man he had assaulted was the parish priest, who, 
having been kept out at a late call in this remote 
part of his parish, had come into the public-house to 
get a bed. Hearing that an English gentleman was 



2o6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

occupying the other bed in the room, he went up as 
noiselessly as possible, undressed, put out his candle, 
and was creeping to bed as softly as he could, lest 
he should disturb the sleeping stranger. He Avas 
amazed when he was seized by the throat and flung 
down the stairs. Fortunately he was none the worse 
for his fall, and he and Trollope became fast friends. 
After some time, when they met again, they had a 
hearty laugh over their first acquaintance. 

During my residence in Cork, and for many 
years afterwards, I constantly travelled on engines, 
and though I never met with any accident worth 
speaking of, I ran some risks, of which the following 
are a few examples. 

One pitch-dark night I had rather an unpleasant 
ride from the Limerick junction to Charleville. 
The line of railway from Dul)lin to Cork was nearly 
finished ; a single line of rails had just been roughly 
laid to Charleville, and two engines were employed 
in ballasting the line and in drawing waggon-loads 
of rails and sleepers. One of the engines, called 
" The William Dargan," after the contractor, was a 
large and powerful one; the other, mucli smaller, 
was named " The Lady MacNeill," after the wife of 
Sir John MacNeill, the engineer. 

I was staying at Charleville, and had to attend 
a trial in the town of Tipperary. I told Robert 
Edwards, the contractor's engineer — a wild, reckless 



A WILD RIDE 207 

young fellow he then was — to have the little engine 
ready at the junction at eight in the evening, to 
take me back to Charleville. I was kept later in 
Tipperary than I had expected, and did not get to 
the junction till after half-past eight. We got up on 
the engine and started, Edwards driving at a great 
pace. 

" Better not go so fast, Edwards," said I ; " the 
road is very rough, and we'll be off as sure as 
fate." 

" I know the road is rough," said he ; " but it's 
better to run the chance of being killed that way, 
than to be surely killed the other way if we go 
slow." 

'' What other way ? " I asked. 

" Why," he said, " I told the ' William Dargan ' to 
start from Charleville, with a rake of empty wag- 
gons, exactly at nine o'clock, if we weren't in before 
that, and if we don't run fast she'll be into us, and 
send us to glory." 

" Better go back to the junction, and wait till she 
comes," I suggested. 

" Never fear," he said. ^' It's only twenty miles ; 
I'll do it in time." 

So on we went, the engine jumping, and every 
minute swaying from side' to side ; two or three 
times I was certain we were off the line. I may say 
we were running for our lives, for when we arrived 



2o8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

the big engine had actually whistled, and in half a 
minute Avould have started. 

A few days later things did not turn out so favour- 
ably. Either through some misdirection or the mis- 
understanding of directions, the two engines did 
meet on the line. Edwards and an assistant of his, 
named Mulqueen, with the driver and fireman, were 
on the small engine — I was not, luckily for me, able 
to o'o with them that mornins;. Just as they came 
out of a cutting they saw the big engine coming 
towards them at full speed. "Make your soul, 
Mulqueen ; we're done," said Edwards. The driver 
reversed the engine and put on the break, and just 
before the " William Dargan " was upon them they 
jumped off, and all escaped unhurt except Mulqueen, 
who had his arm broken. The weight of the large 
engine threw the little "Lady MacNeill" off the 
line and down an embankment, at the foot of Avhich 
she lay, much shattered, on her side ; the " William 
Dargan " held its own, and none of those on it were 
hurt. 

One night, near Thurlos, some one, either for 
mischief or for sport, dropped a huge stone from the 
parapet of a bridge on the engine. It struck the 
fireman, who fell insensible on the foot-plate. We 
thought at first that he was killed, but he soon 
revived ; his head was badly cut and his collar- 
bone broken. 



A NARROW ESCAPE 209 

Another time, when the line from Waterford to 
Tramore was just finished, I was riding on the 
engine, when we saw a boy placing a very large 
stone, which he could scarcely carry, on the rail. 
He then stood beside the line watching for the 
result. We pulled up as quickly as possible, and 
were going comparatively slow" when we reached 
the stone, wdiich the ironguard in front of the wheel 
threw off the line. We stopped the engine, jumped 
off, and gave chase to the boy, whom w^e very soon 
captured. He was a small boy about ten years old. 
We led him back, weeping piteously, and took him 
up on the engine. He besought us not to kill him. 
We told him we would not kill him, but that we 
would bring him into Waterford, where he would be 
tried, and undoubtedly hanged next morning for 
trying to kill us. When we had gone about half a 
mile w^e stopped and let him off; and didn't the 
little chap run ! He evidently feared lest we should 
change our minds again and deliver him up to the 
hangman. 

The railway between Bagnalstown and Kilkenny, 
of which I was engineer, w^as a single line. One 
morning a regiment — I think a battalion of the 
Eifle Brigade — w^as to leave Kilkenny for Bagnals- 
tow^n. Owing to some mistake as to his orders, the 
station-master started a heavy goods train from the 
latter town, and telegraphed to the station-master at 



2IO SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Kilkenny, " Don't start th^ soldiers till the goods 
train which I have just started arrives." The repl}^ 
he got was, "Your goose is cooked; the soldiers 
have started." Fortunately the trains came in sight 
of each other on a long, straight part of the line ; 
but even so the drivers were barely able to pull up 
in time to prevent a collision. Had they met an}^- 
where else, an accident would have been inevitable. 

In 1853 I again took up my abode in Dublin. I 
was sorry to leave Cork, where I had spent five 
happy years amongst some of the kindest and most 
hospitable people in Ireland, and where" I had had 
plenty of salmon and trout fishing in the Lee and 
other rivers, and, as I had leave to shoot on all the 
neighbouring properties, capital snipe shooting too. 
The next ten years were the busiest of my life. 
During them I was engineer to many railways and 
other important works, and so continued, with the 
additional duties of engineer to the Irish Light Rail- 
Avay Board, till 1863, when I was ofi'ered the appoint- 
ment of Commissioner of Public Works in Ireland, 
which I accepted, having been much pressed to do 
so by my friends in the Irish Government. 

My work as an engineer involved much travelling 
by coach and car in country and in toAvn, and many 
a pleasant driver I have met. One old^ fellow had 
driven me to my office on a bitterly cold winter's 
morning. I ari^ived in a snowstorm, and never did 



HUMOROUS JARVEYS 211 

I see such a picture of cold as the poor old man ; his 
whiskers and his beard stiff with frost and snow, and 
a miniature icicle depending from his nose. Having 
paid him his fare, I said to him (a little unfeelingly 
perhaps), " I hope the midges are not biting you this 
morning." "Bedad, they are, your honour," he 
answered ; "an' it's what I think this hate will be 
for thunder." 

On Knockacuppal Hill, a very steep one on the 
road from Mallow to Killarney, a small boy clad in 
only one garment — an old corduroy jacket — used 
to run after the coach as it went slowly up the hill, 
asking for pennies. I heard an English lady, who 
was on the box-seat beside the coachman, say to him, 
" Isn't it very sad to see that poor little fellow with 
nothing on him but that wretched little jacket?" 
" Ma'am," said the coachman, " that boy could have 
clothes enough if he choose." "And why hasn't 
he?" she said. "Well now, ma'am, that boy is so 
wonderful ticklesome that he never could stand to 
let a tailor take his measure for a pair of trousers." 

The Rev. Dr. Marshall, a well-known convert to 
Rome, who was a very large man, about nineteen or 
twenty stone weight, had been attending a meeting 
at the Rotunda, in Dublin, and took a covered car to 
go to Drumcondra, where he was staying. Before 
he got into the car he asked the driver to tell him 
what the fare was. 



212 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Driver. " I'll Pave that to you, your raverence." 
Dr. Marshall. " But how much is it ? " 
Driver. " Whatever your raverence plazes." 
Dr. Marshall. "That won't do. I shall not get 
into the car till you tell me the fare." 

Driver. " Get in at once, your raverence, for if 
the horse turns and gets a sight of you, the divil a 
step he'll go at all." 

The late Father O'Dwyer, parish priest of Ennis- 
kerry, gave a carman, avIio had driven him home on 
a wet day, a glass of whisk3^ He begged for 
another glass. Father O'Dwyer, who knew that 
the man was rather too fond of spirits, refused, and, 
still holding the decanter in liis hand, said, " Every 
glass of that you drink is a nail in your coffin." 
"Why, then, your raverence," said the man, "as 
you have the hammer in your hand, you might as 
well drive another nail into it." 

Another priest having given a glass of whisky to 
a carman who complained of not feeling well, said 
to him, " How do you feel now ? Didn't that make 
another man of you ? " " Bedad, it did, your raver- 
ence ; and the other man would like a glass too." 

An old lady getting into a cab in Grafton Street, 
in Dublin, was heard to say to the driver, " Help me 
to get in, my good man, for I'm very old." " Begorra, 
ma'am," said he, " no matter what age you are, you 
don't look it." 



MV FAVOURITE CARMAN" 213 

But of all the carmen I have met, George Cullen 
of Bray is my favourite. There is a kindliness and 
simplicity about him that is quite refreshing. Paul 
Cullen, I used to call him, after the Roman Catholic 
Archbishop of Dublin, Cardinal Paul Cullen. The 
carmen at Bray, too, often called him Paul, and, on 
my arrival from Dublin at the railway station, would 
call to him, " Paul, here's the masther waiting for 
you." One windy day his hat was blown off, and 
one of them said to him, " Begorra, Paul, you were 
very nearly losing your mitre." Sometime after I 
had given up my profession, and become Commis- 
sioner of Public Works, I was driving home on his 
car, when we had the following conversation : — 

Cullen. " Does your honour get your health as well 
now as when you would be making them railroads ? " 

/. " Yes, Paul ; thank God, 1 am as well as ever 
I was." 

Cullen. "Does your honour make as much 
money ? " 

1. " N'o, Paul, I am sorry to say I do not." 

Cullen. "But I suppose, your honour, the situa- 
tion is more respectable like % " 

Another time he told me of a ghost that was 
occasionally seen at a well near Bray Commons. 

" It was," he said, " the spirit of a poor man that 
was run over and his head cut off him by the 
Waxford Coach." 



214 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

"Did you ever see it, Paul ? '' said I. 

" Well now, your honour, I got a sight of it the 
other night when I was afther laving 3^ou and the 
misthress at home from Judge Crampton's. It was 
standing near the well." 

I. " What was it like ? " 

Cullen. " Well, it was in the form of a man." 

/. " Did you speak to it ? " 

Ciollen. " The Lord forbid that I'd spake to it/' 

/. " Did it not speak to you, Paul ? " 

Cullen. "It didn't speak to me, your honour; but 
it made a terrible buzz out of it, like as if a big bee 
would be flying a-past you; and away I dhrove 
home as fast as I could pelt." 

On a wet and warm summer's day as he drove me 
home I told him that if we were able to get above 
the clouds we should find it a lovely bright, cold 
day, and as we went higher it would grow colder 
and colder, until, if we got up high enough, we 
should be frozen to death. " I got a skitcli of that 
the other day, your honour," said Paul. " There 
were two gentlemen, tourists I think they wor; I 
drove them all round by Delgany and the Glin of 
the Downs, and they were spaking about them 
things — balloons I think they call them — and one 
of them said he went up in one of them not long 
since, and first he kem into a hot climate, and then 
into a cowld climate, and above that again he got 



A JEALOUS COACHMAN 215 

into a climate of flies, and overhead, above all, saving 
your honour's presence, he said he got up into a 
stinkin' climate. That's the way I got a skitch 
of it." 

When the railway between Dublin and Drogheda 
— one of the first in Ireland — was in course of con- 
struction, I constantly travelled between these places 
on the Drogheda Coach, of which old Peter Pentle- 
bury, an Englishman with an Irish wife, was the 
coachman. He would never bring himself to believe 
that the line would be finished, so for a time he was 
pleasant and chatty ; but as he saw the works com- 
ing tow^ards completion he grew morose, and would 
scarcely speak a word to any one connected with 
them. 

The day the first engine ran from Drogheda to 
Dublin, as Sir John MacJN'eill and I were standing on 
the foot-plate of the engine, we saw the coachman's 
wife on the platform. 

"Come along, Mrs. Pentlebury," said Sir John, 
''and Ave'll give you the fastest drive to Dublin you 
ever had." 

" But how can I get down again ? " said she. 

" We'll bring you in in plenty of time to come 
home on the coach with your husband." 

'^ Well, then, I thank you kindly, Sir John, I'll 
go," she said. " Shure it will ever and always be a 
great thing for me to say I'm the first woman that 



2i6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

ever drove from Drogheda to Dublin on the rail- 
road." 

We did not get in quite as soon as we expected, 
and by the time she arrived at the coach-office, in 
Dorset Street, Peter was already on the box, with 
the reins in his hand, ready to start. Great was his 
amazement to see her. 

" What the divil brought you here ? " he said. 

" To go home on the coach with you, Peter dear," 
said she. 

" How did you come up to town ? " 

" On the railroad with Sir John and Mr. Le Fanu," 
she said. 

" Well, go back the way you came," said Peter, in 
a rage, "for the divil a step shall you come with 
me ; " and off he drove. 

No engine was going back to Drogheda that da}', 
so she hired a car to drive the thirty miles, for which 
her husband, of course, had to pay ; but that wasn't 
all, for as Mrs. Pentlebury had a remarkably lively 
tongue of her own, he got a blowing up that he 
remembered till the day of his death. So poor Peter 
had cut off his nose to vex his face. 

Some time after the railway from Dublin to 
Belfast was opened, before the days of smoking- 
carriages, I got into an empty compartment at 
Scarva junction, and had just lit my cigar, when an 
old gentleman got in. I had to ask him whether 



THE PORTER AND THE PIPE 217 

he had any objection to smoking, and pending his 
answer I put my hand with my cigar in it out of the 
window. I felt the cigar hitting hard against some- 
thing, and heard a voice crying out, " Well, if you 
wouldn't give me anything, you mightn't go dirtying 
my hand like that." It was a porter who had 
stretched his hand for an expected sixpence, instead 
of which the lighted end of my cigar was pressed 
into the palm of his hand. 

Ilberry, formerly traffic superintendent of the 
Great Southern and Western Railway, told me of 
an incident which he saw occur about the same time. 
A man w^as sitting in a carriage next to the open 
window with his back towards the engine, in one 
hand a pipe, and in the other a match, Avhich he was 
ready to light, though he was afraid to do so till the 
train should start, as he saw a porter watching him. 
Just as the train started he lit the pipe, put it in his 
mouth, stretched his head out of the window, and 
putting his thumb, with his fingers extended, to his 
nose, gave a farewell salute to the porter. He, 
however, had failed to perceive or reckon with 
another porter standing on the platform between 
him and the engine, who deftly plucked the pipe 
out of his mouth, put it in his own, and with his 
thumb to his nose, returned the passengers salute as 
the train moved off, leaving him, poor fellow, without 
his smoke or his pipe. 



21 8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Father H told me that he had got into a 

second-class carriage one night by the last train 
leaving Dublin for Bray. Before the train started 
a woman, whose name he could not remember, but 
whom he recognized as a parishioner, came to the 
door and said, " Father James, have you any objection 
to my coming in here ? " " Not the least," said he. 
So in she came, and sat on the seat opposite to him. 
Off went the train at such a pace as he had never 
known before ; it jumped and swayed from side to 

side. Father H was naturalh^ much alarmed. 

The woman, observing this, said to him, " Don't be 
the least unasy, Father James. Sure it's my Jim 
that's driving ; and when he has a dhrop taken, it's 
him that can make her walk." 



TORY ISLAND 219 



CHAPTER XY 

Tory Island : its king, customs, and captive — William Dargan : 
his career and achievements — Agricultural and Industrial 
experiments — Bianconi, the carman — Sheridan Knowles: 
his absence of mind — Absent-minded gentlemen — Legal 
complications — Judges and barristers — Lord Norbury. 

It was when on an inspection for the Irish Light 
Board, upwards of thirty years ago, that I visited 
Tory Island, which lies well out in the Atlantic, 
some seven miles off the extreme north-west corner 
of Ireland. The cliffs, on the north of the island, 
are very fine ; the south, where we landed, is flat. 
The islanders, with very few exceptions, spoke only 
Irish. Their carts had no wheels ; they were what 
are called sleigh carts, the shafts being prolonged 
till they touched the ground, beyond which point 
they were turned up, and had a sort of creel laid 
on them, in which the load was carried. I was 
very anxious to see the famous king of Tory Island, 
of whom I had heard, a very diminutive man, 
almost a dwarf, but of much intelligence. I was, 
however, disappointed, as his Majesty was too drunk 
to give an audience to visitors. He had, for two 
days previously, been in bed in that condition. At 



220 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

the time of my visit the islanders were in much 
anxiety about their fuel, as their turf bog was all 
but exhausted, and after a year or two they would 
have no turf. I hear they now get coal by a 
steamer, on her voyage from the Clyde to Sligo. 
I was told that some of the priests who had been 
stationed on the island had, from utter loneliness, 
taken to imbibing poteen whisky a little too freely, 
thereby causing scandal, and that the bishop had, 
for a time at least, withdrawn the clergy from the 
island, leaving the inhabitants to make the most of 
the ministrations of the priest of the parish nearest 
to them on the main land, who visited them from 
time to time as the weather permitted. 

In the south and west of Ireland marriao:es 
amongst the peasantry, with rare exceptions, take 
place during Shrove-tide. Many of the people think 
it would not be lucky to be married at any other 
time of the year; consequently the priest alwa^^s, 
when it was possible, visited the island during Shrove 
for the purpose of solemnizing any weddings which 
had been arranged. It, however, sometimes hap- 
pened that the weather was so stormy for weeks 
together that no boat could approach the island, so it 
had been arranged that, when this occurred, the en- 
gaged couples should at an appointed hour assemble 
on the east shore of the island, while the priest, 
standing on the shore of the main land opposite to 



TORY ISLAND 221 

them, read the marriage ceremony across the water. 
As soon as the storm abated he went to the island 
and did whatever more was necessary to render the 
marriages valid in the eye of the law and of the 
Church. I cannot vouch for the truth of this, though 
I heard it from a very trustworthy man. He said 
the young people were not considered really married 
till after the visit of the priest ; but that they liked 
to be, at all events, partly married before Shrove 
was over. 

The following occurrence I know took place, not 
more than eight years ago. A boat, rowed by some 
Tory islanders, arrived at Gweedore, which is about 
sixteen miles from the island, in quest of a doctor, 
whom they found and brought back with them to 
Tory. His help was wanted for one of the chief 
men there, who was very ill. The doctor's people 
expected him home that evening or, at latest, next 
morning ; but for five days he never appeared. His 
friends and patients grew uneasy about him, they 
knew it was not the weather that kept him from 
returning, for it happened to be particularly fine; 
so a friend of mine, and some others rowed off to 
Tory Island to seek for him. There they found him 
a prisoner. It appears that immediately after his 
visit the sick man began to amend, and next morning- 
was very nearly well; but the islanders were so 
delighted and charmed with the doctor and with his 



222 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

wonderful skill, that they determined to keep him 
permanently with them. They lodged him in their 
best house, gave him the best food they had, with 
whisky unlimited ; and nothing he could say would 
induce them to take him back to Gweedore. His 
friends, however, rescued him and brought him 
safely home. 

In the course of my work as an engineer, amongst 
others I made two friends, both long since dead, of 
whom I think I may here say a few words. They 
were both remarkable men ; both self-made men. 
The one was William Dargan, the great Irish rail- 
way contractor; the other the well-known coach 
and car proprietor, Charles Bianconi. 

Dargan was the son of a tenant farmer, in the 
county of Carlow. At a school near his house he 
received a sound elementary education, and from 
early years showed special aptitude for figures. 
After leaving school he obtained a subordinate 
appointment — that of timekeeper, if I remember 
rightly — on the great Holyhead Eoad, under 
Telford, the engineer. His intelligence, and the 
trust which he inspired, so pleased Telford that a 
few years later, when the new mail-coach road was 
about to be made from Dublin to Howth Harbour, 
from whence the packets carrying the mails for 
London were to start, he entrusted to Dargan the 
superintendence of the work. So satisfactory was 



WILLIAM DARGAN' 223 

his performance of his duties that, on the completion 
of the road, the Treasury granted him a gratuity of 
three hundred pounds in addition to his salary. 
This was the capital upon which he commenced 
his career as a contractor. His first, or almost his 
first, contract was for an embankment on the river 
Shannon, near Limerick, in which Lord Monteagle 
and Sir Matthew Barrington were interested ; and 
so struck were they with the manner in which he 
carried out the work, and the straightforwardness 
Avith which he settled his accounts, that they became 
through life his fast friends. His first large under- 
taking was the construction of the railway from 
Dublin to Kingstown, which was begun in 1831, 
and was^the first passenger railway made in Ireland, 
and the second in the Three Kingdoms. From this 
time forward he found no difiiculty in obtaining 
large contracts in every part of Ireland. He had. 
two, amounting together to over a million sterling, 
with the Great Southern and Western Railway 
Company and the Midland Company; and others 
which in those days Avere considered large, with 
most of the other railway companies in Ireland. 
I have settled as engineer for different companies 
many of his accounts, involving many hundred 
thousand pounds. His thorough honesty, his will- 
ingness to yield a disputed point, and his wonderful 
rapidit}^ of decision, rendered it a pleasure, instead 



224 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

of a trouble, as it generally is, to settle these 
accounts ; indeed, in my life I have never met a 
man more quick in intelligence, more clear sighted, 
and more thoroughly honourable. 

By the year 18^:9 he had amassed a large fort- 
une, and he at once turned his attention to the 
manner in which he could best apply it in benefiting 
his country. The first project which suggested itself 
to him was to introduce into the south of Ireland 
the culture of flax, which had rendered the north so 
prosperous. He took a large farm near Kildinan, 
some ten miles north of Cork, which he at once laid 
out for flax cultivation, and on which he erected 
scutch mills. He then offered to supply all the farmers 
through that part of the country with flax seed at 
his own expense, and to purchase their, crops from 
them at the current market price in Belfast, and this 
he undertook to do for at least two years. Yery few 
farmers, however, accepted his offer and made the 
experiment even in the first year, and scarcely any 
in the second, and the project became a total failure. 
It is difficult to understand why this should have 
been so, unless it w^as due to the fear that the flax 
crop might exhaust the land, and to the inveterate 
dislike of the southern farmers to try any new 
experiment; for it is with them a fixed conviction 
that it is best for them to go on, as they themselves 
express it, " as we did ever and always." 



AN EXPERIMENT 225 

There was nothing in the soil or climate to pre- 
vent the successful cultivation of flax, for though its 
growth in the south of Ireland had altogether ceased 
for many years, yet I can remember the time Avhen 
every farmer, no matter how small his holding, had 
a plot of flax, from which all the linen required for 
his household was manufactured, the spinning being 
done by his wife and daughters, and the weaving by 
the local weavers, of whom there were then numbers 
in every part of the country. 

Dargan's next project for his country's good was 
a thoroughly successful one. It was the great 
Industrial Exhibition in Dublin in the year 1853, 
all expenses in connection with which, including the 
erection of the building itself, were defrayed by him. 
It was opened by her Majesty the Queen and the 
Prince Consort, who came to Ireland expressly for 
the purpose. They did Dargan the honour of visit- 
ing him and Mrs. Dargan at his beautiful residence. 
Mount Anville, a few miles from Dublin. Her 
Majesty wished him to accept a baronetcy, which 
he declined, at the same time expressing his grati- 
tude for this mark of her Majesty's approval. The 
Queen then announced to him her intention to pre- 
sent him with a bust of herself, and also one of the 
Prince Consort; and, with her usual thoughtful 
kindness, desired that he should select the sculptor 
by whom they were to be executed. He, from his 



226 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

friendship for the man, selected Johnny Jones, of 
whom I have already said much. 

His next project Avas the establishment of a great 
thread factory at Chapelizod, near Dublin, where 
he purchased, and added to, large mill premises, and, 
at great expense, fitted them with all the necessary 
machinery. It may have been that the demand 
for thread was sufficiently supplied by the English 
manufacturers; but Avhether it was from this or 
from other causes, the undertaking completely failed. 

After this Dargan, unfortunately for himself, 
threw all his energies into the Dublin, Wicklow, and 
Wexford Kail way, in which he invested nearly his 
whole fortune, and of which he became chairman. 
In connection with this line he spent large sums on 
the improvement of Bray, the now well-known water- 
ing-place on the coast about midway between Dublin 
and Wicklow. He built the Turkish baths (now the 
assembly rooms) at a cost of £8000, and also a 
handsome terrace. He made the esplanade, which 
has since been secured by a sea-wall and much 
improved by the energetic town commissioners. He 
also aided largely in providing first-rate hotel 
accommodation there. This expenditure, though 
large, would not have seriously impaired his means 
had the railway proved as successful as he hoped 
it Avould have done ; but the great depression in 
railway property, which began about that time, so 



DARGAN'S MAXIMS 227 

lowered the value of all his investments that they 
for a time became of little worth ; and this remark- 
able man (for a remarkable man he was) a few years- 
later died comparatively poor, and, to use his own 
words, " of a broken heart." 

I had almost forgotten to mention two of his 
favourite maxims. These were "A spoonful of 
honey will catch more flies than a gallon of vinegar," 
and " Never show your teeth unless you can bite." 
On these, as he himself often told me, he had acted 
from early years, and it was to them that he attrib- 
uted much of his success in life. 

There is a statue of Dargan by Johnny Jones 
in front of the I^ational Gallery in Dublin. 

Charles Bianconi, a native of Tregolo, a village 
in the Duchy of Milan, arrived in Ireland in 1802, 
at the age of fifteen, as an apprentice, with other 
Italian boys, to one Andrea Faroni, a dealer in 
prints and statuettes. These boys were employed 
in travelling about the country selling their master's 
wares, Bianconi's district lying principally in the 
counties of A¥exford and Waterford. After about 
tw^o years he left Faroni and started a similar busi- 
ness on his own account. In 1806 he settled in 
Carrick-on-Suir, in the county of Tipperary, and 
in the following year he went to Clonmel. 

In his many journeys from town to town he 
often felt the want of any means of conveyance for 



228 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

travellers, the only public vehicles of any kind being 
the few mail and stage coaches on the main roads. 
In 1815 Bianconi started a one-horse stage car, car- 
rying six passengers, between Clonmel and Cahir; 
and the experiment was so successful that before 
the end of the year he had several similar cars 
plying between different towns in Tipperary and 
Waterford. This business prospered to such an 
extent that by the year 1813 his cars — many of 
them carrying twenty passengers and drawn by four 
horses — were plying from market town to market 
town over the whole south and w^est of Ireland and 
a considerable portion of the north. It was on some 
journey on one of these cars that I first made his 
acquaintance. 

They were well known throughout Ireland as 
Bianconi's cars, and even after the development of 
railways he still ran his cars and various coaches 
to the different railway termini. At one time his 
vehicles were performing journeys daily of over 
four thousand miles in twenty-two different counties, 
and he used to frequently boast, to the credit of the 
peasantry, that no injury whatever had been done to 
any of his property in all these districts. 

I met him often afterwards, and had many 
opportunities of noticing the quick intelligence 
which had led to his success. But Avith all his 
cleverness he combined a kindness and simplicity of 



SHERIDAN KNOWLES 229 



character rarely met with. He reahzecl a fortune, 
and purchased an estate on the banks of the Suir, 
in the county of Tipperary. I have often heard 
him talk of the struggles of his early days ; and 
he used to delight in showing to his guests the pack 
which he had carried when selling his wares as a boy. 
The following is a characteristic letter, written in his 
eighty-first year, and the last I ever had from him : — 

"Longfield, 10. 10. '69. 
"My dear Sir, 

"I learn with great pleasure your being in the country, 
and if you condescend to visit a carman s stage, I will drive 
you from this to Ballygriffin (five miles), w^iere the late Sir 
Thomas Fitzgerald, pending his father's lifetime, supported 
himself and his large family on the salmon he caught in that 
beautiful spot, and which is strictly preserved by yours 

" Very truly, 

"Charles Bianconi. 
" W. R. Le Fanu, Esq. 

"And we will bring Morgan John O'Connell, who is at 
present at home, with us." 

Another friend of mine, of whom I saw a good 
deal at this time, Avas Sheridan Knowles, the 
dramatist. He was one of the most absent-minded 
I ever knew. Mrs. Norton and her sister, Lady 
Dufferin, were engaged to dine with him, and he was 
in the evening to read aloud to them one of his plays, 
which he had just finished. When the day came 
Kno\vles forgot all about it, dined early with his 



230 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

family, as his custom was, and was just sitting down 
to tea at eight o'clock when his two guests arrived. 
He was so much put out that he did not know what 
to say or do ; but they were so pleasant and so full 
of fun, that they soon put him at his ease. They 
protested that they much preferred tea to dinner, 
and before they went praised his play so much that 
he was as happy as a king. 

Some time afterwards a still more awkward 
incident occurred. He was walking down Eegent 
Street with a friend, when a gentleman stopped him 
and said — 

" You're a pretty fellow, Knowles." 

'< Why ? What have I done ? " said Knowles. 

" Only kept us waiting dinner on Wednesday 
from half-past seven till eight, and never came." 

" Good heavens ! " said Knowles ; " I forgot all 
about it. Ah, my dear fellow, can you ever forgive 
me ? " 

"I can and will," said the other, "on one 
condition — that you dine with me at half-past 
seven next AVednesday." 

'' Thank you, my dear friend ; I shall be 
delighted." 

" Don't forget — half-past seven, Wednesday. 
Good-bye," said the gentleman, and off he went. 

Knowles, in much excitement, turned to his 
friend and said, "Isn't this absence of mind a 



SHERIDAN KNOIVLES 231 

dreadful calamity ? Just think of my having kept 
that dear fellow and his family waiting for me in 
that way ! By-the-by, do you know Avho he was ? " 

" ^N"©," said his friend. 

" By Jove, no more do I ! " said Knowles, and 
ran after the man as fast as he could go. But he 
had gone so far that Knowles could neither see nor 
catch him. 

At one time he went on the stage, and used to 
act in his own plays — Virginius, William Tell, and 
The Hunchhack. One night, when he was to act 
The Hunchback in Dublin, I went into his dressing- 
room at the Theatre Royal, and found him in a 
state of great agitation. 

" Look at me, William — look at me," said he, 
stretching out his right leg, on which was a red 
stocking — the other leg was bare. 

"What is the matter?" I said. 

"Ah," said he, "isn't an actor's a fearful life? 
The other stocking is lost. The overture has begun. 
I must put on black stockings, and in five minutes 
go on the stage to disgrace myself. The part was 
never acted in black stockings. Oh ! like a dear 
fellow, pull off this red one." 

This I did, and under it was the lost one. He 
had put the two on one leg ! 

One evening I heard his daughters say to him 
that they were sure that a Mr. H , Avho was a 



232 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

constant visitor at the house, had false whiskers. 

Knowles was indignant, and said that H was 

above any such nonsense as that. Half an hour 

later H came in. Knowles at once went up to 

him and said, "My dear boy, these girls of mine 
have been taking away your character. They say 
that these are false." As he said this he took hold 

of one of H 's whiskers, which came off in his 

hand. The girls flew from the room, leaving their 
father to explain as best he could. 

Another absent-minded man was one of the 
Battersbys, of the county of Meath. On a very Avet 
day he came into my office, and, as he was going, 
put on his hat and took his umbrella in his hand. 
My hat and umbrella were on a table near the door. 
As he said good-bye to me he took up my umbrella, 
and was going off with an umbrella in each hand. 
" Wet as it is," I said, " won't you find two umbrellas 
rather too much \ " " A thousand pardons," he 
said. '' I'm always doing these absent sort of 
things.-' He put down my umbrella and took up 
my hat, and was walking off with two hats, one 
on his head, the other in his hand. I said, " I'm 
afraid you'll find two hats as inconvenient as two 
umbrellas." 

But more absent-minded than either he or 
Knowles was a Mr. Shaw of the post-office depart- 
ment in Edinburgh, who, as Professor Bankin told 



MISTAKEN IDENTITY 233 

me, sometimes forgot his own name. One day, as he 
was on his way to visit Smith of Deanstone, he met 
a man who he thought was an acquaintance of his, 
and put out his hand to shake hands with him. 

" I do not think, sir," said the man, ^' I have the 
honour of your acquaintance." 

" Oh, indeed you have," said Shaw. '' Don't you 
know me ? I'm Smith of Deanstone." 

" Then, sir," said the other, " I do not know you." 

Shaw had not gone many paces, when it flashed 
across his mind that he had said the wrong name. 
He ran after the man, overtook him, and, giving him 
a slap on the back, said, "What an ass I am! I'm 
not Smith of Deanstone; I'm Shaw of the post-office." 

" I don't care a d n who you are, sir ; but I 

wish you'd let me alone," said the other. 

An intimate friend of Knowles was Young, the 
well-known actor. We went to see him taking his 
farewell of the Dublin audience. It was said that 
the reason for his retirement was that he had mar- 
ried a rich widow — a Mrs. Winterbottom — whose 
name he was reported to have taken. On this fare- 
well night he was acting his favourite part, " Zanga," 
in The Revenge. His opening speech began in this 
way: '"Tis twice ten years since that great man — 
great let me call him, for he conquered me — made 
me the prisoner of his arm in fight. He slew my 
father and threw chains o'er me. I then was 



234 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

young/' Here he was interrupted by a voice from 
the gallery crying out, " And now 3^ou're "Winter- 
bottom." I do not think he, in fact, took the name, 
for I met him years after still " Young." 

Once I heard an amusing mistake in a name. As 
I walked up Whitehall with Sir Matthew Barrington 
and a Mr. Jeffers, Fonblanque passed by and nodded 
to me. "Do you know who that was?" said Sir 
Matthew to Jeffers. "No," said Jeffers. "Who 
Avas he ? " "A remarkable man," said Sir Matthew. 
" That is Blanc-mange of the Examiner P " No, 
no," said I — " Fonblanque." " Oh, of course ! " said 
Sir M. ; " but I never can remember names." 

The well-known Irish judge, the late Judge B , 

was neither absent-minded nor forgetful of names, 
but had a peculiarity of his own ; this was that he 
constantly misunderstood, or pretended to misunder- 
stand, what witnesses examined before him said. 
Many are the stories told of him, amongst others 
the following : — 

At the Kildare Assizes at Naas a serious assault 
case was tried. Two men had quarrelled in a hay- 
field, where they were mowing, and one of them 
had nearly killed the other. A witness was asked 
how the quarrel began. He said that Cassidy had 
called Murphy a liar, and that then Murphy hit 
Cassidy with a scythe-board. 

"Stop a moment; let me understand," said the 



A PAINSTAKING JUDGE 235 

judge. '' Did Murphy lift up a sideboard and hit 
Cassidy with it ? " 

Witness. "He did, my lord." 

Judge. "How did it happen that there was a 
sideboard out in the field ? " 

Witness. " We does always have them there, my 
lord, when we do be moAving." 

Judge. " For what purpose? " 

Witness. " To sharpen our scythes, my lord." 

Counsel then, with some difficulty, made the judge 
understand that the witness meant a scythe-board, 
and not a sideboard. 

Another case w^as one in which a man was indicted 
for robbery at the house of a poor widow. The first 
watness w^as her young daughter, who identified the 
prisoner as the man who had come into the house 
and broken her mother's chest. 

Judge. " Do you say that the prisoner at the bar 
broke your mother's chest ? " 

Witness. " He did, my lord. He jumped on it till 
he smashed it entirely." 

Judge {to Counsel). "How is this? Why is not 
the prisoner indicted for murder? If he smashed 
this poor woman's chest, in the way the witness has 
described, he must surely have killed her." 

Counsel. " My lord, it was a wooden chest." 

In the north of Ireland the peasantry pronounce 
the word witness " wetness." At Derry Assizes a 



236 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

man said he had brought his "wetness" with him 
to corroborate his evidence. 

" Bless me," said the judge, " about what age are 
you?" 

Witness. " Forty-two my last birthday, my lord." 

Judge. "Do 3^ou mean to tell the jury that at 
that age you still have a wet nurse ? " 

Witness. " Of course I have, my lord." 

Counsel hereupon intei^posed and explained. 

Another case Avas also in the north where " mill " 
is often pronounced " mull." The point at issue was 
Avhether a mill had been burned accidentally or 
maliciously. Dowse (afterwards Baron Dowse), as 
counsel for the miller, was trying to show that it 
must have been burnt maliciously, and that the 
contention of the opposite side, that it was an accident 
caused by the machinery becoming over-heated, was 
untenable. He asked a witness whether he had 
happened to feel the gudgeons (part of the machinery) 
before he left the place. 
Witness. " I did, sir." 

.Dowse. " In what state were they 1 " 

Witness. " Perfectly cool." 

Judge. " I want to understand, Mr. Dowse, what 
gudgeons are ? " 

Dowse. " Little fishes, my lord." 

Judge. " Then of course they were cool." 

Dowse {to Witness). "In what state were the 



'M MULL'' 237 

premises and the machinery that evening when you 
left?" 

'Witness. " All the machinery was perfectly right 
and cool, and the whole mull was as right as a 
trivet." 

Judge. " Stop a moment ; this is the first time we 
have heard of the mull. What is a mull, Mr. 
Dowse?" 

Dowse. " What you are making of this case, my 
lord." 

Perhaps the most remarkable of all the stories 
told of this judge is the following. At the assizes 
at Clonmel, several men were indicted for man- 
slaughter. The evidence went to show that all the 
prisoners had been in the fight against the man who 
had been killed. A witness was asked whether he 
could swear that the prisoner, Pat Eyan, had done 
anything to the deceased man. " Yes," he said, 
" when poor Ned Sullivan was lying on the ground, 
welthering in his blood, Pat Ryan came up and gave 
him a wipe of a clay alpin on the back of his head." 
The prisoners were convicted, and heavy sentences 
passed on all except Pat Ryan, whom the judge 
addressed in these words — 

"Your case, Patrick Ryan, the court has taken 
into its merciful consideration, for though you were 
one of the party engaged in this terrible affair in 
which Sullivan lost his life, it appears that towards 



238 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

the end of the fight you were moved with com- 
passion, for it has been distinctly proved by one of 
the witnesses for the prosecution, that when the 
unfortunate man was lying on the ground, bleeding 
from his wounds, you came behind him and wiped 
his head with a clean napkin." 

He would have proceeded to pass a much lighter 
sentence on Kyan than he had passed on the others 
had he not been stopped by counsel, who explained 
to him that a clay alpin is a heavy loaded strick, and 
that the " wipe " which Kyan had given Sullivan 
with it was in all probability his death-blow. 

Many are the stories I have heard of judges and 
barristers in former days. Though some of them 
are well known, I shall venture to give a few which 
may be new to my readers. One of the best was 
connected witii a case tried (in Limerick, I think) 
before Chief Baron O'Grady. Bushe was making 
a speech for the defence, when an ass began to bray 
loudly outside the court. "Wait a moment," said 
the Chief Baron. " One at a time, Mr. Bushe, if 
you please." When O'Grady was charging the 
jury, the ass again began to bray, if possible more 
loudly than before. " I beg your pardon, my lord," 
said Bushe, " may I ask you to repeat your last 
words ; there is such an echo in this court I did not 
quite catch them." 

Of Lord Norbury, the hanging judge, it was said 



ON HIS OATH 239 

that he was only once in his life known to shed 
tears, and that Avas at the theatre, at The Beggar's 
Ojpera^ when the reprieve arrives for Captain 
Macheath. 

When the income tax was about to be extended 
to Ireland, John Ryan, reader to the Court of 
Chancery, a very stingy old gentleman, Avas very 
much excited about it. " But," said he to a friend, 
" how will they find out what my income is ? " 
" You'll be put on your oath to declare it, Mr. 
Ryan," said his friend. " Oh, will they leave it to 
my oath ? " said Ryan, and walked off in high glee. 

Witnesses try in various ways to avoid taking 
what they consider a binding oath. A favourite plan 
supposed to relieve them from all obligation is, when 
being sworn, to kiss the thumb instead of kissing the 
book. Before Baron Pennefather, at Tralee Assizes, 
a witness did so. One of the counsel said, " The 
witness kissed his thumb, my lord." " Why did the 
witness kiss his thumb?" asked the baron. "He is 
blind of an eye, my lord," replied Mr. Hurley, the 
clerk of the Crown. 



240 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTER XYI 

Irish bulls — Sayings of Sir Boyle Roche — Plutarch's Lives — 
A Grand Jury's decision — Clerical anecdotes and biblical 
difficulties — A harmless lunatic — Dangerous recruits — 
Tom Burke — Some memorials to the Board of Works. 

Of Irish bulls there is no end. Some have become 
household words, as, for example, Sir Boyle Eoche's : 
" A man couldn't be in two places at once, barring 
he was a bird." There are others of his not so well 
known. 

In the Irish House of Commons in 1795, during 
a debate on the leather tax, the Chancellor of the 
Exchequer, Sir John Parnell, observed " that in the 
prosecution of the present Avar, every man ought 
to be ready to give his last guinea to protect the 
remainder." 

Mr. Yandeleur said that " however that might be, 
a tax on leather would press heavily on the bare- 
footed peasantry of Ireland." To which Sir Boyle 
Roche replied that this could be easily removed by 
making the under leathers of wood. 

In speaking in favour of the Union, he said that one 
of its effects Avould be " that the barren hills would 
become fertile valleys." 



IRISH BULLS 241 

In another debate he said, " I boldly ansAver in the 
affirmative. N^o ! " 

In mentioning the Cape, he said that " myrtles 
were so common there, that they make birch brooms 
of them." 

I am not sure whether it was he who in one of his 
speeches said, " You should refrain from throwing 
open the flood-gates of democracy lest you should 
pave the way for a general conflagration." 

He once mentioned some people who " were living 
from hand to mouth like the birds of the air." 

Sir Eichard Steele, another well-known Irishman, 
was asked by an English friend how it Avas that 
Irishmen were so remarkable for making bulls. " I 
believe," said he, " it is something in the air of the 
country ; and I dare say if an Englishman was born 
here, he would do the same." 

Tom Moore used to tell a story that when he was 
staying, as a boy, with an uncle at Sandymount, as 
they walked into Dublin early one morning, they 
found a dead highwayman lying on the road, who 
had evidently been shot during the night by some 
one whom he had attacked. There was a small 
bullet-hole in his right temple. An old woman was 
looking at him. " Gentlemen," said she, " isn't it 
the blessing of God it didn't hit him in the eye." 
This is mentioned in some life of Moore. 

Some people were laughing at an Irishman who 



242 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

won a race for saying, "Well, I'm first at last." 
" You needn't laugh," said he ; " sure, wasn't I 
behind before % " 

The following conversation was heard in the 
Fenian times some years ago : — 

Tom. " These are terrible times, Bill." 

Bill. " Bedad, they are, Tom ; it's a wondher if 
we'll get out of the world alive." 

Tom. " I'm afeard we won't, even if we had as 
many lives as Plutarch." 

Bill. " If Oliver Cromwell could only come up 
out of hell, he'd soon settle it." 

Tom. '' Bedad, maybe he'd rather stop where he 
is." 

In the coffee-room at an hotel in Dublin an Irish 
gentleman said to a friend who was breakfasting 
with him, "I'm sure that is my old college friend 
West at that table over there." " Then why don't 
you go over and speak to him?" said his friend. 
"I'm afraid to," said the other; "for he is so very 
shy, that he Avould feel quite awkward if it wasn't 
he." 

It was Caulfield, an Irishman who succeeded 
Marshall Wade as manager of roads in Scotland, 
who wrote and posted up in the Highlands the 
famous lines — 

" Had you seen these roads before they were made, 
You'd hft up your hands and bless Marshall Wade." 



IRISH BULLS 243 

About seventy years ago the grand jury of the 
county of Tipperary passed the following resolu- 
tions : — 

" 1st. That a new court house shall be built. 

" 2nd. That the materials of the old court house 
be used in building the new court house. 

" 3rd. That the old court house shall not be taken 
down till the new court house is finished." 

Here is a bull, or rather a mixed metaphor, which 
appeared in an English newspaper. In a leading 
article in the Morning Post^ in 1812, occurs the 
following passage : — " AVe congratulate ourselves 
most on having torn off Cobbett's mask and revealed 
his cloven foot. It Avas high time that the hydra- 
head of faction should be soundly rapped over the 
knuckles." 

It was a Scotchman — Professor Wilkie, I think — 
who said to a boy whom he met, " I was sorry to 
hear that there was fever in your family last spring. 
Was it you or your brother that died of it ? " " It 
Avas me, sir," said the boy. 

A barrister defending a prisoner in Limerick said, 
*' Gentlemen of the jnry, think of his poor mother — 
liis only mother." 

The foUoAving Avas told me many j^ears ago. 
Some young felloAvs in the naA^y shaA-ed the head of 
a brother officer, an Irishman, Avlien he AA^as drunk, 
and put him to bed. He had previously given 



244 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

orders that he was to be called at five in the morn- 
ing, and was accordingly called at that hour. AYhen 
he looked in the glass and saw an appearance so 
unlike what he expected, " Hang me," said he, " if 
they haven't called the wrong man ! " 

The present County Surveyor of Cork, Mr. 
Kirkby, is a graduate of Cambridge, and sometimes 
writes " M. A. Cantab " after his name. At Koad 
Sessions a rate-payer said to another, '^ That Mr. 
Kirkby must be a very clever chap, for sure he is a 
Cantab of Oxford." 

A neighbour of mine said that a very fine horse he 
had bought a few days previously had gone lame. 

" What is the matter with him?" asked a Mr. T . 

'' I am greatly afraid he has got the vernacular," 
said he (of course he meant navicular). " Dear me ! " 

said T , '' I never heard of any quadruped having 

that disease, except Balaam's ass." 

As I have given some stories of the Bench and 
Bar, it would be scarcely fair to ignore the Church, 
so I shall insert a few anecdotes of clergymen. 

My father, arrayed in knee-breeches, shovel hat, 
and apron, was walking home in a hard frost one 
Sunday afternoon from the Chapel Koyal, at Dublin 
Castle, where he had preached. As he went along 
the footway round St. Stephen's Green, where in 
frosty weather boys always make slides, he acci- 
dentally got on one, slid along it, and came 



QUEER SERMONS 245 

down on his knees, bursting his inexpressibles. An 
old woman who was passing addressed him in these 
words : " Isn't it a shame for jou, you old black- 
guard, to be making slides to knock decent people 
down ? It's what you ought to be tuck up by the 
police." 

I told this story to Thackeray, and shortly after- 
wards saw a little drawing in Punch illustrating it. 

Many years ago, in St. Catherine's Church, in 
Dublin, I heard a sermon preached by a Mr. Cogh- 
lan, a queer-looking, fat old man, with a very round 
red face, and snow-white hair. He had been speak- 
ing on the virtue of charity, and ended his discourse 
thus : " And now I implore each one of you to put 
to himself or herself this vital question, ' Am I in 
love '\ ' " then, after a pause, and turning to the right, 
" Am I in love ? " then turning to the left, " Am I in 
love — and charity with all men?" But before he 
came to ''charity with all men" there went a very 
audible titter through the congregation. 

Of the same sort was the sermon of an old gentle- 
man, formerly curate of St. Mark's parish in Dublin. 
He was preaching on the final separation of the bad 
from the good, and had taken for his text, "He shall 
set the sheep on His right hand, the goats on the 
left." He finished his sermon in the following 
words : " And now, my beloved brethren, I beseech 
each and every one of you, rich and poor, young and 



246 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

old, man and woman, before you go to bed this 
night, to put to yourselves this all-important ques- 
tion, ^ Am I a sheep, or am I a goat ? ' '' 

My friend, the Kev. W. F. Boyle, told me that 
when speaking to a boy, whom he found herding 
pigs in a field, on the impropriety of never attending 
Sunday school, he waxed quite eloquent in his ad- 
monitions, and thought from the earnest look in the 
boy's eyes that he had made a deep impression. He 
paused for a repty, ^vhen the boy said, " Well, your 
raverence, pigs is the divil for rootin'." The earnest 
look, which Boyle had mistaken for attention to his 
advice, was in reality fixed on some of his pigs 
which were rooting in a far-off corner of the field. 

Something of the same kind happened to the late 
Cardinal Cullen, who, when taking a walk by him- 
self in the country one Sunday afternoon, saw a boy 
in a field holding a goat by a rope, when the follow- 
ing dialogue took place : — 

Cardinal. " Were you at Mass to-day, my boy ? " 

Boy. " Xo, I wasn't." 

Cardinal. "Why not?" 

jBoy. " I was houlding the goat." 

Cardinal. " Were you at Mass last Sunday ? " 

Boy. " ]^o, I wasn't." 

Cardinal. " Do you ever go to Mass at all ? " 

Boy. "Ko, I don't. Don't I tell you I do be 
houlding the goat ? " 



SHAVING WITH SHERRY 247 

Cardinal. '' But couldn't you sometimes get some 
one else to hold it ? " 

Boij. "No, I couldn't. You don't know that 
goat. The divil couldn't hould that goat; you 
couldn't hould that goat yourself." 

A clergyman in the county of Clare, much given 
to drawing the long bow, had quarrelled with the 
squire of the parish, on whose land was the best well 
in the country. One very dry summer, fifty years 
ago, all the other streams and wells in that part of 
the country were dried up, and the poor clergyman 
could get water nowhere, and said to a friend, " You 
can fancy the straits I am put to ; last Sunday 
morning I had to shave with sherry." 

The late Archdeacon Kussell had a very noisy 
servant, whom he w^as obliged often to correct for 
the noise she made at her work. Yery early one 
morning as he was coming downstairs, there was a 
great clattering in the drawing-room, and he heard 
the servant saying, " Bad luck to you ! you're the 
noisest fire-irons I ever handled." 

A strange parson, officiating in a country church 
in the absence of the rector, to his horror saw the 
gentleman who had handed the plate, when return- 
ing it to him, slip a half-crown off and put it into 
his waistcoat ])ocket. Immediately after the service 
he told the sexton to request the gentleman to come 
to him to the vestry room. When he came he said 



248 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

to him, *' Sir, I never was so shocked and pained in 
my life. I distinctly saw you, sir, abstract a half- 
crown from the plate and put it into your pocket." 
" Of course you did," replied the man ; " here it is. 
I always do so. You see when I get the plate, before 
I begin to hand it round, I always place a half- 
crown on it, in order to induce people to give more 
than they otherwise would, and I afterwards remove 
it as you saw me do." 

When I was a boy I recollect my father coming 
home and telling us of an old lady he had been visit- 
ing, who, just as he came into the room, stirred the 
fire, by which she was sitting, and sent a cloud of 
sparks up the chimney. ''Ay, ay," she said, ^"man 
is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upwards ; ' 
though indeed, sir, I never could see what trouble 
the sparks have in flying upwards." 

I am not sure whether it was the same lady who 
asked a clergyman how it was that Solomon was 
permitted to have seven hundred wives, not to men- 
tion the three hundred other ladies. He explained 
to her that the manners and customs of those times 
were quite different from those of the present day. 
"Dear me," she said, "what privileges those early 
Christians had ! " 

There was an old blind lady in Dublin who used 
to have a little girl to read aloud to her. She was 
reading that part of the Book of Exodus where the 



WITTY PRIESTS 249 

building of the tabernacle is described. In reading 
the verse which says the roof is to be covered with 
badger's skins, the girl read aloud, " And a covering 
of beggar's skins." "What did you say, child?" 
said the old lady. "Beggar's skins, ma'am," said 
the girl. "Oh dear! oh dear!" said the old lady, 
"weren't those terrible times when it was just 'up 
with the beggar and off with his skin ' ! " 

There are many stories of the witty priests in old 
times ; I shall only mention two. 

A farmer asked the well-known Father Tom 
JVIaguire what a miracle was. He gave him a very 
full explanation, which, however, did not seem quite 
to satisfy the farmer, who said — 

"Now, do you think, your raverence, you could 
give me an example of miracles ? " 

"Well," said Father Tom, "walk on before me, 
and ril see what I can do." 

As he did so he gave him a tremendous kick behind. 

" Did you feel that ? " he asked. 

" Why wouldn't I feel it ? " said the farmer, rub- 
bing the damaged place. " Begorra, I did feel it, 
sure enough." 

" Well," said Father Tom, " it would be a miracle 
if you didn't." 

Curran said to Father O'Leary (the wittiest priest 
of his day), " I wish you were St. Peter." " Why ? " 
asked O'Leary. "Because," said Curran, "you 



250 SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIFE 

would have the ke\'s of heaven, and could let me 
in." '"It would be better for you," said O'Leary, 
'^ that I had the keys of the other place, for then I 
could let you out." 

In catechising a little girl the clergyman asked 
her ^' What is the outward and visible sign in bap- 
tism?" "The babby, please, sir," said she. 

Another on being asked what an epistle was, said, 
" The feminine of an apostle." 

A short time ago a lady told me that in examin- 
ing her class of boj^s in Bray, she asked one of them 
what John the Baptist meant by " fruits meet for 
repentance." He answered, " Apples and nuts, hams, 
gams, and pigs' cheeks." She was angry with him, 
thinking he was making fun ; but on questioning 
him she found he was quite serious, and thought 
that the Baptist meant that they were to bring him 
fruits and meat to show their repentance (as he was 
rather tired of locusts and wild honey), and the 
fruits and meats best known to the boy were those 
he mentioned. 

A clergyman explaining to some boys the passage 
in Scripture, " It is easier for a camel to go through 
the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into 
the kingdom of God," told them that this ver}^ strong 
expression was meant to show extreme difficulty, 
" for you knoAV it would be quite impossible for a 
camel to 0:0 throuo-h the eve of a needle." " Of 



A HUNGRY LUNATIC 251 

course it would, sir, on account of its humps," said 
one of the boj^s. 

In connection with the Board of Works T held the 
office of Gommissioner of Control of Lunatic Asylums 
in Ireland. On my first visit to Mullingar Asylum 
I was accompanied by Doctor N'ugent (now Sir John 
ISTugent), also a commissioner. As we went through 
the house, with the resident doctor, we saw in the 
day room, amongst other patients, a pleasing looking 
elderly man, on each of whose legs was a hay rope 
wound above, below, and round the knee. On our 
entering the room he said — 

" Gentlemen, I understand you are here on behalf 
of the Government. If so, I have a very serious 
complaint to make." 

We asked him what it was. 

" It is," said he, " that for the last three days I 
have had nothing to eat." 

The doctor called up the principal attendant, a 
large, fresh-looking young man. We asked him 
whether this was true. 

" No," he said ; '* the gentleman gets as much 
as any one in the house, and has a great appetite." 

" Gentlemen," said our friend, " I admit that I have 
a good appetite ; but it is worse than useless to me, 
while this chubby, rosy-cheeked rascal eats every- 
thing I am supposed to get. Just look at him, gen- 
tlemen ; see how fat he is growing on my food." 



252 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

" AYel V said the doctor, '' come to tea with me 
this evening, and you shall have plenty of tea and 
cake and bread and butter." 

'^ Are you in earnest, doctor ? " said he. 

'' I am, indeed," said the doctor. 

" Then, gentlemen," said our friend, " I have much 
pleasure in withdrawing the charge I have made." 

The poor man had been a Eoman Catholic priest, 
and was continually at his devotions, and tied the 
hay ropes {sucjgauns) round his legs, to save his 
trousers from being worn out by the constant kneel- 
ing. He was perfectly harmless, and before the fol- 
lowing Christmas was allowed out of the asylum to 
live with his brother, who held a large farm, and who 
had, amongst other things, a peculiar and valuable 
breed of turkeys, of which he was proud. He had 
twenty-two of them, and on Christmas morning, on 
going into the fowl-house, he found every one of 
them dead. On inquiry, his brother confessed that 
he had got up very early in the morning and cut off 
their heads, as he thought they were to be cooked 
for the Christmas dinner. He had no opportunity 
of doing further damage on the farm, as he was at 
once sent back to the asylum. 

The following I heard from Sir John Nugent. 
During the Crimean War a considerable sum as 
bounty was given to recruits on enlisting. A re- 
cruiting sergeant one morning enlisted two men in 



\ 



LUNATIC RECRUITS 253 

Queen Street in Dublin, gave them their bounty, and 
repaired witli them to the Royal Oak public-house 
on the Quays, where they spent their money like 
men, drinking, and treating every soldier who came 
in. In the afternoon, when all the bounty was 
expended, the sergeant told them that they were 
now^ to go with him to the Royal Barracks. 

" But," said one of them, '^ maybe you don't know 
what we are." 

" Come along," said the sergeant. " What does it 
matter what you were ? you are soldiers now." 

" But," said the other, " maybe you don't know 
that we are lunatics — and dangerous lunatics, too. 
We got out of Richmond Asylum last night." 

The sergeant did not believe them, and a row 
had begun, when the police came in and interposed, 
and persuaded the sergeant to take them up to the 
asylum and test the truth of what they had said. 
So up they went, and great was the joy of the 
officials there when they appeared, for they were 
indeed dangerous lunatics who had escaped. 

Amongst a few perquisites which the Commis- 
sioners of Public Works in Ireland enjoy are a buck 
and a doe every year from the royal herd in the 
Phoenix Park. I had written some years ago to the 
deer-keeper to send me my buck on the following 
Tuesday. On that morning, as I was dressing, my 
servant came to my room and said — 



254 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

*•' The man is belo\y, sir, with a haunch of 
venison." 

'' Go down,'- I said, " and see whether he has 
all the venison." 

He returned saying that the man had got only 
the haunch. 

'' Go down and tell him to go back at once 
for the rest of the animal, and say that I am 
greatly annoyed at having been sent only a 
haunch." 

He returned with the haunch in his hand, say- 
ing, "The man says, sir, that that was all he was 
told to leave." 

I looked at the label on the venison, and found 
it was a present from Lord Powerscourt. I ran 
downstairs as fast as I could to try to catch the 
messenger. Luckily he had not gone. I endeavoured 
to explain the mistake I had made. He did not 
seem quite to take it in, for he said — 

" I have another haunch, sir, but I was told to 
leave it at Mr. Brewster's ; but, if you think his 
lordship won't be displeased, I'll leave it with your 
honour, if you think you ought to have it." 

The following letter, which shows the confidence 
Galway men have in each other, is perhaps worth 
inserting here. I received it from the late Tom 
Burke, then Under-Secretary for Ireland, with a 
note to say that he had referred the writer to us, as 



GALIVAY CONFIDENCE 255 

we, and not he, bad the entire control over the deer 
in the Phoenix Park. For obvious reasons I have 
omitted the address. 



"December 18, 1879. 
" Dear Sir, 

" Will you kindly excuse me as a Galway man, acquainted 
with a few, at least, of your friends, if I trouble you by in- 
quiring how I could procure a small bit of venison against 
Christmas Day. I understand the matter is very easy to those 
who have either friends or acquaintances in the park ; but 
though I cannot presume to count you amongst either, still 
as a namesake and a native of the same county I make bold to 
write you what otherwise would be a very presumptuous letter. 

" I could easily send for the venison if I knew where to get it. 

"Pray excuse my novel request. 

" Your obedient servt, 

"RoBT. Burke. 
''Right Hon. T. H. Burke." 

Tom Burke was a very old and dear friend of 
mine, and was one of a little club of twelve members 
who for some years dined once a month at each 
other's houses, and among whom were my brother 
and myself. I never can forget my grief and horror 
when on Sunday morning, the 7th of May, 1882, the 
sergeant of police in Enniskerry came to my house 
and told me that he and Lord Frederick Cavendish 
had on the previous evening been murdered in the 
Phoenix Park. I felt it all the more as I had been 
talking to them both but a few hours before their 
death. From Lord Frederick I had received much 



256 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

kindness while he \yas Financial Secretary to the 
Treasury, and I had hoped to see much of him as 
Chief Secretary here. 

Our secretary often got amusing letters, par- 
ticularly from farmers who were borrowers under 
the Land Improvement Acts. Here is one which 
came from a man who had been refused a second 
instalment of a loan because he had misapplied the 
first. 

" Sir, 

" I spent the money all right ; send me the rest, and don't 

be huniboUng me any more. Send it at once, I tell ye. Hell 

to your souls! send me my money, or I'll write to Mr. Parnell 

about it. 

" Yours affectionately, 

"James Ryan." 

I suppose most of the letters Eyan received were 
from relations in America, and seeing that they said 
" aflFectionately," he thought that was the correct 
word to use. 

Another from a man in like circumstances was as 
follows : — 

"Honoured Sir, 

" I send you these few lines, hoping that you are in the 
enjoyment of good health, as I am, thanks be to God, at this 
present writing. I write also to let you know that you are a 
disgrace to common society, and that you had better send me 
the money you owe me at once, or you'll hear more about it. 

" Yours, honoured sir, 

"David Carroll." 



LETTERS FROM TENANT-FARMERS 257 

Here is one other. It is from a small farmer, 



who had in his hands the balance of a loan (£8), 
which he would neither expend nor refund. After 
many fruitless endeavours to make him do one or 
the other, a peremptory letter was sent to him, 
saying that if he did not within a week repay the 
amount, the Board's solicitor would be directed to 
take proceedings at once against him for its recovery. 
He replied as follows : — 

" My dear Secretary and Gentlemen of the Honour- 
able Board of Works, 

"Asking me to give back £8 is just like asking a beautiful 
and healthy young lady for a divorce, and she in the oughtmost 
love with her husband, as I am with each and every one of ye. 
" I am, your sincere friend, 

"James Clarke." 

The enforcement of the fishery laws in Ireland 
was, some years ago, one of the duties of our Board. 
We constantly received memorials from people sum- 
moned for, or convicted of, breaches of those laws. 
The following is one of them : — 

" Balinamaua West, Sept. 19, 1869. 
" To ye most icorship Gentlemen Commisioners of the Public 

Wo7'ks of h'eland. 

"The Memorial of Thomas and Ann Egan and ]\Tar- 

gret Egan 

"Most humbly showeth, my lords, that this memorialist 

states to your worships that on the shore of Balinamana west 

leading with the public oyster bank Thomas Egan left few 



2s8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

hundred oysters steeping on the lower shower last season, and 
could not lift them until the season was out. The water Bailiff 
passed by and found few small oysters close there which he 
summoned to oranmore Petty Sessions, his two little daughters 
was seeking for some cockels along the shore which he says 
found few small oysters with them which he summoned also. 
The court will open on thursday next, this memorialist begs 
to take leave to your worships most presious time hoping as 
they are most distressed creatures and a father of 12 in a weak 
family of helpless children and innocent of any charge and was 
not aware of any by-law act they confidently and most humbly 
crave and implore your worship will order them to be acquited 
of the first charge of the kind or to be imprisonment will 
be leyd on them, as they are distressed poor creatures could 
not aford to no fine for which they will as in duty ever 
pray." 

The following story was told me by one of my 
colleagues at the Board of Works just before I 
reth'ed two years ago : — 

An Irish gentleman whom he knew had a splendid- 
looking cow, but she kicked so much that it took a 
very long time and was nearly impossible to milk 
her ; so he sent her to a fair to be sold, and told his 
herd to be sure not to sell her without letting the 
buyer know her faults. He brought home a large 
price, which he had got for her. His master was 
surprised, and said — 

" Are you sure you told all about her ? " 

" Bedad, I did, sir ! " said the herd. " He asked 
me whether she was a good milker \ ' Begorra, 
sir,' says I, ' it's what you'd be tired milking her ! ' " 



SNIPE SHOOTING 259 



CHAPTER XVII 

Shooting and fishing — Good snipe grounds — Killarney and 
Povverscourt — My fisliing record — Playing a roclv — Salmon 
flies — Salmon and trout — Grattan's favourites — Hooking 
a bird — Fishing anecdotes — Lord Spencer's adventure. 

Shooting and fishing have been my favourite 
sports. The former, in my early days, was with the 
old flint gun, which had been brought to great per- 
fection. It was quite wonderful how few mis-fires 
one had. When these flint-locks had been made as 
perfect as possible, they were superseded by per- 
cussion guns, which in their turn gave place to 
breechloaders. So it is with almost everything. I 
have had much shooting of many sorts, but snipe 
shooting was my favourite ; and many a good day 
I have had with the old flint gun. My best have 
been with a muzzleloader. I never was a very good 
shot, except at snipe and woodcock. At rabbits I 
was very bad, especially when they w^ere crossing 
rides. I constantly shot behind them, and sym- 
pathized with the Frenchman who couldn't hit 
them, " Dey are so short." But at woodcock or 
^nipe few men could beat me. I have shot as many 



26o SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

as eighteen snipe in as many consecutive shots, and 
often from twelve to fourteen without a miss. Snipe 
shooting, alas ! is not what it used to be. Drainage 
of marshes and fields has in some places abolished 
it, in others greatly injured it. There are few places 
now in Ireland where thirteen or fourteen couple 
would not be considered a good day, and on many 
lands where I have often shot from five and twenty 
to thirty couple a day one-third of the number 
could not now be found. Here are two of the best 
days I have ever had — I take them from my diary — 

" Dingle^ l^th February^ 1855. — I shot Galorrus 
bog ; bagged 48 couple of snipe, a mallard, 2 plover, 
and a curlew. Kan out of shot at 3 p.m." 

" Dingle^ ISth Febniarij^ 1855. — I shot part of 
Cohen's bog ; bagged 60 couple of snipe, a wood- 
cock, a teal, a curlew, and a hare. I took out with 
me 2 lbs. of powder and 14 lbs. of shot, and had very 
little left in the evening." 

On the same two days a cousin of mine who was 
with me killed forty-seven couple of snipe, four 
plover, a woodcock, and a teal. 

As we sat at our dinner at the inn in Dingle, 
rejoicing over our good sport, we were attended by 
a very grumpy waiter, evidently from his rich 
Dublin brogue an importation from that city, sulky 
and dissatisfied with his lot. I happened to say 
to my cousin, " I think we are now nearly in the 



SNIPE SHOOTING 261 

most westerly spot in Ireland." The waiter (it was 
the first time he had spoken except in monosyllables) 
said, " Yes, gentlemen, you are in the most westerly 
spot ; and, what is more, you are in the most dam- 
nable spot in Ireland ! " He then relapsed into sullen 
silence. 

On Lord Carlisle's first visit to Galwa}^, when 
he was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, a waiter — some- 
thing of the same sort as our friend — was told off 
specially to wait on him. On handing a dish of peas 
to him at dinner, he said, " Pays, yer Excellency ; " 
then 80U0 voce, " and if I was you, the divil a one iv 
thim I'd touch, for the're as hard as bullets ! " 

These great days were on Lord Yentry's property, 
and I was glad to hear from him that these best of 
birds are still plentiful there. His son not very long 
ago shot over forty in a day. 

The snipe shooting near Killarney was very 
good indeed, though not equal to that at Dingle. 
Lord Kenmare kindly gave me leave to shoot over 
all his property there, except the woods and coverts ; 
so did Herbert of Muckross over all his, with the 
exception of one estate, which he preserved for him- 
self and friends who might be staying Avith him at 
Muckross, though I fear it was sometimes visited 
by poachers from Killarney. As I was shooting on 
the adjoining estate, my attendant, one Callaghan 
McCarthy, said to me — 



262 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

" Your honour might as well tiy that other bog 
beyant there." 

"Callaghan," I said, "don't you know I have 
not leave from Mr. Herbert to shoot there ? " 

"What matter, your honour?" said he. "Sure 
you might as well shoot it as any other blackguard 
out of Killarney." 

In the neighbourhood of Cork I have often in a 
day killed from twenty to thirty couple. Near 
Blarney, on the slope of a hill, there was a spring, 
surrounded by mosses and reeds, where in time of 
frost there were sure to be at least three or four 
snipe. Once before I got very near it one got up ; 
he flew low and right away from me. 'Twas a 
long shot, too, and I missed him. I reloaded and 
walked on, expecting the others to get up, when lo ! 
just by the spring were two, each with a wing 
broken, hopping about. I had chanced to hit them 
on the o:round when firino: at the other. 

About twelve miles from Cork, in a bog near 
Castlemartyr (one of the best, but for its size, I ever 
shot), there is a similar spot. The late Cooper 
Penrose, to whom it belonged, told me that Avhen 
he went to shoot there, before he went into the bog, 
he always fired at this spot, which was inarked by 
red and yellow moss, and seldom failed to pick up 
from one to four snipe. 

'Twas on this bog a sparrow-hawk swooped down 
and carried off a snipe I had wounded. 



KILLARNEY IN WINTER 263 

At Hillville, some twenty miles west of Tralee, 
I have had some of my best days. Near there one 
evening, after a very hard day, during which I had 
bagged twenty-nine couple of snipe and a mallard, 
I sank nearly to my middle in a bog. I was very 
tired, and but for the help of the man who was 
carrying my game-bag I do not think I could have 
pulled myself out. I was nearly in as bad a plight 
as the gentleman about whom a girl called out to 
her father, " Oh, father, father ! come out quick and 
help Mr. Neligan ; he is up to his ankles in the 
bog ! " " Well, Mary," said he, " what harm will 
that do him ? " '' Ah, but, father, sure his head is 
downwards ! " said she. 

For over forty years I have seen Killarney nearly 
every year, but never did I see it look so beauti- 
ful as on one cloudless winter day, when we were 
cock shooting in the woods on Toomey's mountain. 
The hills above and around us, all clad in snow, 
glistening in the sun ; below us was the lake ; q^qtj 
island, with its trees, reflected in the water, calm 
and clear as crystal ; and the woods along its mar- 
gin green as in summer, so full are they of arbutus 
and holly. 

The following autumn I was shooting Avith my 
friend, the late John Pennefather, on Lord Glengal's 
part of the Gal tees, where grouse are not plentiful. 
We were restricted to seven brace in the day ; but 



264 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

they need not have restricted us, for after a long 
day, in which we had worked uncommonly hard, we 
had only six and a half brace. We were very 
anxious to get our other bird, but one dog had gone 
lame, and the other was so tired that he began to set 
larks and other small birds, as tired dogs will do. 
At last, however, he came to a very steady set high 
above us on the hill. 

" Come on," said Pennefather ; '*• he has them at 
last." 

" Go up yourself," I said ; " it is only a lark, or 
something of the sort." 

" Come on, lazy fellow, and we'll make the seven 
brace. Look now how steady he is ! " 

So with our weary legs up the weary way we 
trudged. As w^e got up to the dog a large yellow 
frog jumped from before his nose ; nothing else was 
there ; and we descended sadly. 

My last day's shooting was at Powerscourt — a 
party of eighteen ; we went up for a hare drive on 
Douce and the War Hill. I and the late Mr. Gray, 
the artist, were together. We climbed at such a pace 
that by the time we were half way up the mountain, 
my heart was beating in a fearful way. 

"PU go no farther," said I to Gray; " Pll go 
back and shoot woodquests in Powerscourt." 

"Come on, man, come on," said Gray; "you'll 
be all right in a minute." 



I 



A FISHING RECORD 265 

"I can't," I said, "there are drums beating in 
my ears for the last ten minutes." 

" Nonsense," said he. " There are cannons going off 
in my ears for twenty minutes. Let us sit down for 
five minutes and get our breath, and we'll be all right." 

So we did, and got on well for the rest of the 
day. Our bag was 505 hares, and a good many 
grouse ; but the marching up the mountains, with 
young fellows, at four miles an hour was, at my 
age, too much for me ; so I gave up shooting. 

Not so with fishing, about which I am as keen 
as ever; and last summer, in my seventy-seventh 
year, I killed 54 salmon and peel ; 128 sea trout, 
and over 400 river trout. I have sometimes thought 
of writing a book on trout and salmon fishing, in 
which my experience has been considerable, as I 
have fished more or less every season for five and 
sixty years ; but so many books on the subject have 
of late years appeared, I am afraid that anything 
I could say would add but little to what the readers 
of those books already know. 

Of the first twenty years of my fishing I have 
no record, as I did not keep one till 1848. Since 
that year the following is a list of the salmon, trout, 
and pike, I have killed : — 

Salmon and peel (or grilse) 1,295 

Sea trout 2,636 

River and lake trout 65,436 

Pike 602 



266 SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIFE 

The list would be much larger had I been able 
to include the earlier years, or had I been able to 
fish as often as I pleased ; but my life has been a 
busy one, and, until I went to the Board of Works 
in 1863, I took no regular holidays, and could only 
spare a few days occasionally from my work. Since 
then, however, I have had a six weeks' holiday every 
year, w^hich has been nearly always devoted to 
fishing. Of the trout in the above list, the great 
majority were the small ones of mountain streams, 
of which I have caught as many as seventeen dozen 
in a day ; but in the rivers flowing through the rich 
lands in the midland and southern counties, I have 
killed many a fine basket of trout up to four pounds 
in weight, and in lakes up to eight pounds. 

In my youth I fished a good deal in the Shannon, 
at Castleconnell, but have no account of my fishing 
there, though I had many a good day. My two 
boatmen were Mick Considine, and Tom Enright, 
the former known as the " Little Boy," and after- 
wards as " The Badger ; " the other as " Tom Pots." 
Every boatman on that part of the Shannon had a 
nickname. Poor old Tom Pots is now a blind 
ferryman at Castleconnell. I had not seen him for 
many years, but when crossing in his boat a few 
years ago, he recognized my voice. The change in 
Mick Considine's name occurred in this way. A 
Mr. Yincent and I were fishing near O'Brien's 



CASTLECONNELL 267 

Bridge, and went into a farmhouse to have our 
dinner ; a splendid sahnon just caught, new potatoes, 
which the farmer dug for us, and newly churned 
butter made a meal not to be despised. After 
dinner Considine was standing near me; scarcely 
any men in those days wore beards, but he had a 
large one, and bushy whiskers too. " Mick," said I, 
" ' Little Boy ' is no name for you ; you are like a 
badger, not like a boy." Then giving him a tap on 
the head with the handle of the gaff, " ' The Badger ' 
I christen you, and ' The Badger ' you are from this 
day forth." ''Begorra, Mick," said Mrs. Frewen, 
the farmer's wife, " you are a badger in earnest now, 
for sure it's Mr. Le Fanu that can christen you ; isn't 
he a dean's son?" From that day till his death, 
some years ago, he went by no other name. 

It was at Castleconnell that I, with the help of 
these two boatmen, played a trick on the well-known 
S. C. Hall, which did him no harm beyond the loss 
of a book, but gave him a fishing adventure to talk 
of for the rest of his life. I have since heard that a 
similar trick has been- played on others, but to me 
and my boatmen it was original. Hall and Mrs. 
Hall were staying with us, late in the summer, at 
Castleconnell. Hall was, in a mild way, a devoted 
disciple of old Izaak, but up to this time he had 
never killed, or even hooked, a salmon ; his fishing 
having been almost entirely confined to catching 



268 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

barbel, dace, and gudgeon, and other base fishes of 
the same sort, from a punt on the Thames. I once, 
and once only, had the privilege of enjoying that 
sport, it was near Teddington Lock ; amongst other 
fish, I caught a gudgeon six inches long, or more ; I 
think it must have been one of unusual size, as the 
boatman, who had disregarded the other fish, looked 
on it with evident admiration, laid it on his hand, 
apparently appraising its weight, and said, " That, 
sir, is an out-and-out gudgeon, and a gudgeon is the 
best fish as swims." But I must not digress. 

Hall's ambition was to catch a salmon, and this it 
is not easy to do when the water is low in bright, 
hot, autumn weather ; the Shannon boatmen say, 
" The fish renaige the fly in August." I was, how- 
ever, determined that, if I could not make him kill 
a fish, I would, at all events, give him some sport; 
so into the cot we got to troll, or as they call it 
there " to drag," the " Gariffs," a broad pool, too 
broad for throwing. On my line was a fly, on his 
a spinning bait, w^hich I had basely leaded so 
heavily that it must before long sink to the bottom 
and stick. We had not been long out when it got 
fast in a sunken rock. The boatmen pulled hard 
away from the rock. Whirr ! whirr ! went the reel, 
as I shouted — 

" You're in him, Hall ! Eaise your rod ; don't let 
him get slack line." 



I 



''HE'S GONE!''' 269 

"Begorra, he is in liim, sure enough," said the 
Badger ; " a big fish he is, too." 

When about fifty yards of line were run out, 
back they rowed towards the rock, while we shouted 
to Hall, " Wheel on him ! wheel quick on him 
or he'll go." As soon as his line was reeled up, 
and his rod well bent, off we went again — whirr ! 
whirr ! whirr ! goes the reel, faster and louder than 
before. Hall was so excited, and so fully occupied, 
that he never saw nor suspected the manoeuvres of 
the men. In this style we made him play the rock 
for over twenty minutes, when Ave finally rowed 
right away, till all his eighty yards of line were run 
out, except a few rolls on the axle of the wheel. 

"What shall I do'^ what shall I do? "he cried. 
" He'll take all my line away ! " 

" You must hold on to him hard," I said, " and 
take your chance." 

In another moment the casting-line snapped, the 
line slackened, the rod straightened. 

" He's gone," cried Hall, throwing himself down 
in the bottom of the cot. 

" Och, murdher ! murdher ! " shouted Tom Pots, 
" the milt is broke in me. What made your honour 
hould him so hard ? Och, but he was a terrible big 
fish ! that fish was fifty pounds if he was an ounce." 

Hall, as many of my readers probably know, 
lived to a great age ; but never to the day of his 



270 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

death did he cease to mourn the loss of that fish. 
How often, years after, have I, and other friends of 
his, heard him describe the play that fish gave, and 
what a monster he must have been ! 

Of late years, except an occasional day on other 
rivers, my sahnon fishing has been confined to the 
Kerry Blackwater, and to the Mulcaire, in the 
county of Limerick. In the former I have killed 
sixteen sahnon and peel in a day, and in the latter 
thirteen. In my earlier days I used a great variety 
of flies for trout. I have tied and tried nearly all 
the four dozen different kinds, which are so well 
described in " Konald's Fly Fisher's Entomology," 
where there is given an exact coloured likeness of 
each fly, and of its artificial imitation. 

Age and experience has taught me the folly of all 
this, as of many other things which I once thought 
wondrous wise. I am now reduced to a few simple 
patterns, though not quite to Cholmondely Fennel's 
three. 

Of salmon flies I had at one time no end of differ- 
ent sorts, and loved to get a new pattern from some 
new book ; I have seldom used any but those of my 
own tying, and for years have very rarely tied any 
but the four following : — 

1. Tag yellow; body claret or firey brown fur, 
with hackle of the same colour, ribbed with gold ; 
yellow or jay hackle round shoulder. 



FLIES AND FLY-FISHING 271 

2. Tag orange ; body black silk and black hackle, 
ribbed with silver ; jay hackle round the shoulder. 

3. Tag yellow ; body grey fur and grey hackle, 
ribbed with silver, yellow hackle round shoulder. 

4. Grouse Lochaber ; body orange or black, ribbed 
with gold. 

The tail of each, a golden pheasant crest, with a 
few sprigs of summer duck. The wings nearly the 
same for all, of mixed fibres of golden pheasant's 
frills, tail, and red spears, green parrot, blue and 
yellow macaw, Guinea hen, mallard, and summer 
duck, or some of these ; head, black ostrich. I do 
not mean to say that flies of other patterns may not 
kill as well, but these are my favourites everj^ where. 
Of course I tie them of various sizes, and if one of 
them of the proper size will not raise and kill a fish, 
I fear it is the fault of the fisherman, not of the fly. 

Though my faith in colour has not increased with 
time, my faith in size has. If I raise two or three 
fish without hooking one, or if a fish rise twice or 
thrice without taking, I put up a smaller fly of the 
same pattern, and generally do so with success. 
Many men, in my opinion, fish with flies too large, 
especially in low water. 

In the Kerry Blackwater, a rapid mountain river, 
which may be in high flood in the morning and 
quite low in the evening, I often during the day use 
flies of five or six different sizes, reducing the size 



272 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

as the water falls ; but in the Mulcaire, which con- 
tinues for a day or two, or longer, without any per- 
ceptible change in the height or colour of the water, 
I seldom change the fl}^, which, as a rule, is no big- 
ger than a white trout fly. 

Spinning and worm-fishing for salmon are so well 
described in the Badminton Library and other books 
that I can add nothing, except that men are apt to 
strike too soon. In fly-fishing, too, I am inclined 
to think that, except in lakes or ver}^ still water, the 
rod should not be raised until a pull is felt. It is 
many a year since one of the best salmon-fishers 
I have known, when he saw me raise m}^ rod on 
seeing a rise, said to me, " You should not do that ; 
never pull a fish till he pulls you." In some parts 
of rivers you can see the fish come quietly at the 
fly, and how often have I seen an excited fisher pull 
the fly away from him before he had time to take 
it. I remember once, in my younger days, on my 
doing this my gillie said to me, " Did you see how 
sorrowful the salmon looked when your honour 
puUed the fly out of his mouth ? " 

Some people still find it hard to believe that the 
little smolts, which have lived for a year or more 
in the river, and have only grown six inches long, 
will return from the sea, after a visit of but two or 
three months, as grilse from four to seven pounds 
Tveight, or even more. What food they thrive on so 



RAPID GROWTH OF TROUT 273 

wonderfully in the sea has not, I think, been dis- 
covered. Dr. Edward Hamilton, indeed, in his 
" EecoUections of Fly-fishing," a most interesting 
book, says, '' They live chiefly upon small fish and 
Crustacea ; young herrings they delight in ; " but, 
unfortunately, he does not give his authority for 
this statement. Whatever they feed on, the fact of 
their rapid growth is beyond dispute. It is the same 
w^ith trout. Little trout, which have lived for years 
in a mountain stream, and have not grown to more 
than six or seven inches long, if transferred to a 
river flowing through rich lands, or to a newly made 
lake or pond, will increase in size nearly as rapidly 
as the smolts do on their transfer to the sea. This 
fact is well established ; but the size they will attain 
in a few months is not so generally known. 

My brother-in-law^. Sir Croker Barrington, made 
a large pond, almost a little lake, of about tw^ent}^ 
acres in extent, in his demesne at Glenstal, in the 
county of Limerick. The lake is fed by an over- 
flowing spring well, and by a very small stream, in 
which there are no fish, as it dries up altogether in 
summer time. I saw the dam completed on the 1st 
of JN'ovember, 1880 ; the lake then began to fill. My 
nephews, after that, caught in the neighbouring 
mountain streams a number of little trout, the largest 
not more than half a pound weight, and put them 
into the lake. I was there in the following July, 



274 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

and it was full of splendid fish, many three pounds 
and upwards. One of four and a half pounds was 
caught, and some larger ones were seen. 

Amongst the fish put into the lake were many 
parr, or young salmon, five or six inches long. A 
fine wire grating was fixed at the exit from the lake 
to prevent their escape. By July they were about 
one and a half pound weight each, bright as silver, 
and very wild and plucky when hooked ; excellent at 
table, too, the flesh pink and curdy. What became 
of them I do not know ; they disappeared from the 
lake. The wire grating may have been broken or 
disturbed, and so they may have got away to the sea. 

Though it is not known on what food salmon fat- 
ten in the sea, I have little doubt that what makes 
trout grow so fast in newly formed lakes and ponds 
is the great quantity of insect food they get from 
the submerged grasses and weeds. In rivers where 
the trout are large there is much insect food. If 
you pull up a bulrush or a reed you will find the 
part that was under water often quite covered with 
larvaG of flies and other insects ; whereas in mountain 
streams insect life is comparatively scarce. I have 
seen somewhere an account of experiments tried on 
trout by feeding one set exclusively on worms and 
small fish, and another set on flies and other insects. 
The latter grew and throve immensely better than 
the former. 



CHANGES OF COLOUR IN TROUT 275 

It is strange that there is nothing found in the 
stomachs of sahnon caught in rivers. I have often 
tried, but never could find anything. Many expla- 
nations have been offered, all, to my mind, quite 
unsatisfactory. In some rivers in time of flood you 
will catch salmon with a worm, or a bunch of two 
or three worms, and while the trout you then catch 
are full of worms, there is nothing in the salmon. 
One of my sons thinks the salmon may only chew 
and suck the worms, and then throw them out of 
their mouths. I can hardly believe this, but it is 
as likely as any other of the theories I have read of. 

A remarkable property of trout and some other 
fish is the way in which their colour adapts itself to 
that of the bottom of the river on which they lie. 
It is this which makes it so hard to see them. This 
property is well known ; but it is not, I think, so 
w^ell known how quickly the colour changes. I 
have often tried a black vessel and a white one — 
putting three or four trout into each. In about two 
minutes or less those in the black vessel are so dark 
that you can scarcely see them, while those in the 
w^hite vessel, in an equally short time, become a very 
pale brown or fawn-colour. If one of them is put 
in amongst the dark ones he looks almost white; 
but in a minute or two is as dark as the others, 
and vice versa a black one amongst the bright ones. 
I have just got a dozen tin vessels made, painted of 



276 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

different colours, green, reel, blue, etc., and I mean 
to try how far trout will take the different shades. 
Their colour certainly does adapt itself more or less 
to the green weeds, the blue limestone, or the brown 
sandstone of the river bottom, and no doubt many 
a fisher has observed, what I have often seen, that 
a trout lying on a gravelly bottom, composed of 
light and dark pebbles, has his body striped, each 
part assuming the colour of the pebble on which it 
lies. 

Another strange fact is that in rivers Avhere the 
trout are very small, you will occasionally find a 
huge fellow, a Brobdignag amongst the Liliputians. 
I have had several examples of this. One was in 
the Dargle river, in which the trout are nearly all 
under a quarter-pound — a half-pounder is quite a 
rarity. I was fishing in the lower part of it one 
evening, and had hooked a little trout on my 
dropper-fly, but found that the tail-fly was held fast. 
I thought it had stuck in a stump or weed, until 
Avhatever it was began to move slowly across the 
river, Avith a very heavy weight upon the line. I 
Avas just thinking whether it might possibly be an 
otter, when out of the Avater sprang such a trout as 
I never dreamt could be there. My tackle Avas very 
light, and I Avas Avithout a landing-net. HoAvever, 
after a long and exciting fight, I tired him, and 
drew him gently to the edge of a low strand, and as 



A BIG TROUT 277 

he lay there on his side, gave him a shove with my 
foot that sent him high and dry on terra fimia. He 
was a little over five pounds, and by no means a 
badly shaped fish. As I went a little lower down, 
a stranger who had been fishing further up the 
stream, but had given it up, was looking into the 
river over the road wall. He asked me whether 
I had had any sport. 

" Pretty good," said I. " I have got a few nice 
ones." 

'•I hear," said he, "they are very small in this 
river." 

" They are rather small ; you don't get many 
bigger than this one," said I, taking my monster 
out of the basket and holding him up. 

The stranger gave utterance to a profane excla- 
mation of surprise, and departed. 

Higher up this river, just below Powerscourt de- 
mesne, is Tinahinch, the house and property which 
was given to Grattan by the Irish nation, in remem- 
brance of his services to his country. The place 
was too much wooded, and has been much improved 
by Grattan's granddaughter, the present proprietor, 
who has cut down many of the old trees, which were 
far too numerous. Grattan was so fond of them 
that he would never allow one of them to be cut. 
An English friend, who had been staying with him, 
asked him whether he would be annoved if he 



278 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

ventured to make a suggestion. '• On the contrary," 
said Grattan, '' I shall feel greatly obliged." ""Well," 
said his friend, " don't you think that great beech 
tree is a little too close upon the house — rather 
overshadows it \ " " I do," said Grattan ; " and I 
have often thought of taking down the house." 

The peasantry in most parts of Ireland admire 
no woman that is not fat and plump. The highest 
compliment they can pa}^ is to tell a lady that she is 
growing fat. At our fishing quarters in Kerry we 
had a good example of this. On our arrival an old 
woman, Mary Sugrue by name, said to my wife, 
''Ah then, ma'am, you're looking grand entirely, 
God bless you ! and you're fallen greatly into meat 
since vou were here last year." 

Another time, at Glenstal, my wife went to see 
the wife of the gamekeeper, a Mrs. Xeal, who is 
very fat — at least three or four stone heavier than 
my wife. " Ah then, ma'am," said she, " I'm proud 
to see you looking so well and so fat." " Well," 
said my Avife, " I don't think you have much to 
complain of in that respect, Mrs. Neal." " Ah, 
ma'am," said she, " how could a poor woman like me 
be as fat as a lady like you ? " 

Small or thin men are not admired either. I heard 
of a sturdy beggar who said to a pale, emaciated 
youth who would not give him anything, " Bad luck 
to 3^ou, you desarter from the churchyard ! " 



AN " UNSIGNIFICANT CRAYTHUR 



279 



Mrs. Martin of Koss told me that some short 
time ago, as she was going out for a walk, a poor 
woman was at the hall door, with whom she had the 
following conversation : — 

Poor Woman. " Ah then, ma'am, God bless you ! 
and won't you give your poor widdy something ? " 

Mrs. Martin. " But you are not a widow." 

Poo7' Woman. "Begorra, I am, ma'am, and a 
very poor widdy, with three small childer." 

Mrs. Martin. " But, my good woman, I know 
your husband perfectly well." 

Poor Woman. " Of course you do, ma'am ; but 
sure that poor little unsignificant craythur is not 
worth mentioning." 

But to return to fishing. Twice in my life I have 
hooked two salmon together ; each time I lost one 
and killed the other. I have, however, several times 
killed a salmon and a sea-trout together. 

In fly-fishing I never caught a bird but once ; it 
was a w^ater ouzel. I also caught four bats; but 
they and the bird flew by chance against my line, 
and were hooked by the wing. I wonder a swallow 
never takes a fly. I saw a robin caught once. A 
friend of mine, when going in to luncheon, stuck his 
rod in the ground in front of the house, and on 
coming out found that a robin had taken one of the 
flies, a small black midge. 

Like most fishers, I have hooked a good many 



28o SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

men, myself most frequently. I never hooked a 
woman but once — it was my wife. I'm not making 
a miserable joke. I was fishing at Ballinahinch, in 
Connemara ; she was sitting on a rock behind me, 
and I sent a salmon fly right into her chin as far as 
it could go. I don't know an3ahing more disagree- 
able both to hooked and hooker ; and I hate pulling 
the hook out, but I always do so instead of cutting 
it out or of stripping off the fly, and driving the 
hook through, and so drawing it out at another 
place. Losing your first salmon of the season just 
as he is into the gaff is bad enough, and getting the 
water well above your wading boots on a cold, frosty 
morning is not pleasant ; but these accidents that a 
fisherman is heir to are mere nothings compared 
with what you feel when you find your salmon fly 
firmly embedded in your own or in some one else's 
face. 

Another time, at Killarney, my attendant, Cal- 
laghan McCarthy, was behind me; I had made a 
cast, and heard him say, '' Hold on, sir ! " but, on 
the contrary, 1 gave a good chuck, thinking I had 
only stuck my fly in a weed or leaf behind me. 
He called out, "For God's sake, hold on, sir! 
Begorra, I believe it's what you want to pull the 
eye out of me." Sure enough, my hook was right 
through his upper eyelid. 

It was with this Callaghan McCarthy that I was 



"A FEELIN' GINTLEMAN'' 281 

once speaking of one of my assistants on the raihvay 
at Killarney, named Handcock, who was a very hot- 
tempered fellow, and rather severe with the men. 
" Well," said Callaghan to me, " they may say what 
they plase, your honour, about Mr. Handcock, but 
he's a wondherful feelin' gintleman." " I'm glad to 
hear you say so, Callaghan," said I. " Oh then, 
indeed, it's him that is the feelin' gintleman. When 
I w^as so bad last w^inther, didn't he come into the 
house to see me? And as soon as he seen me, 
'McCarthy,' says he, 'put out your tongue.' Well, 
savin' yer honour's presence, I put out my tongue ; 
and when he seen it, ' McCarthy,' says he, ' you're a 
dead man.' He's a rale feelin' gintleman, that's 
what he is." 

At Glenstal I was going down, one warm even- 
ing, to fish the ponds. I had wound a cast of flies 
round my hat, and another round that of the under- 
keeper. As we went down through the wood a 
great many flies were buzzing about us. I mistook 
one of those on my hat for one of them, made a slap 
at it, and sent the hook right into the palm of my 
hand. I could see that the keeper was with diffi- 
culty suppressing a laugh; but about ten minutes 
afterwards he called out, "Bedad, sir, I've done it 
myself now." And so he had, and in exactly the 
same way. 

A Mr. Edward Dartnell told me that as he was 



282 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

fishing near Limerick for pike, with a frog for his 
bait, he in some way managed to send the hook 
right through the gristly part of his nose, betw^een 
the nostrils. He had to walk a mile, the frog^ hang^- 
ing there, but concealed beneath his pocket-handker- 
chief, till he came to a forge, and got the hook filed 
across and taken out. 

On a cloudless day I was fishing on the river 
Laune at Killarney. It was so calm, and the water 
so clear, that I couldn't raise a fish, so I tried worms, 
and soon hooked a small salmon. While playing 
him I thought I saw something constantly darting 
at his head, and as he got tired and came near, I 
saw that it was a large perch, which was grabbing 
at the worms hanging on my hook from the salmon's 
mouth. He never ceased to do so till the fish was 
gaffed ; and so bold was he, that if my gillie had 
had a large landing-net instead of a gaff, I am sure 
he would have landed both the fish. 

One day, as I was fishing the SAvords river, T got 
into conversation with McClelland, the w^ater bailiff. 
He asked me how many children I had. I told him, 
and he said, " That's quare now, your honour, for 
that's exactly the same number myself and my 
missus has. And isn't it strange how the Lord 
w^ould give you and me, that can't afford it, such a 
lot? and look at Mr. Roe, and Mr. Dargan, and 
other rich men that hasn't one. But T suppose,'' he 



A SCANTY COSTUME 283 

continued after a pause — " I suppose the Lord takes 
some other way of tormenting them." 

When fishing in Connemara, in the summer of 
1869, 1 started one morning very early from Glenda- 
lough Hotel, our headquarters, for the Snave Beg 
("The Little Swim"), so called because it is the nar- 
rowest part of Ballinahinch Lake, in fact little more 
than a strait joining the upper to the lower lake. 
My wife and two children were, after their break- 
fast, to meet me there. By half-past nine I had 
killed two salmon, and in order to cast my fly over 
a fish that was rising a long way out, I stepped out 
from stone to stone on some slippery rocks. Just as 
1 reached the point I was making for my feet went 
from under me, and I fell flat on my back into the 
lake. All my clothes, I need not say, required dry- 
ing, so, as the sun was hot, I spread them on the 
rocks, and ran about across the heather to warm and 
dry myself. While I was still in this unusual 
fishing costume I heard the sound of a car rapidly 
approaching, and saw, to my horror, that not only 
Avere my wife and children upon it, but also another 
lady. Fortunately there was a large rock close 
by; behind this 1 carefully concealed myself, and 
despatched one of my boatmen to stop the car, and 
to ask them to send me a rug and as many pins as 
they could muster. The rug was pinned round me, 
my arms left free, and my legs sulticiently so to 



284 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

allo^v me to walk, and thus attired I fished for three 
full hours, until my clothes were dry. 

I have had many other duckings, both in lake and 
river, besides " The Snave Beg '' just described, but 
I shall onl}^ mention one of them, as they are usual 
incidents in the life of every fisherman. At our 
fishing quarters on the Kerry Blackwater most of 
the fishing is on the o])posite side of the river from 
the house. AYe pull ourselves across in a flat- 
bottomed boat attached to an endless rope, which 
passes through ])ulleys on each bank. One wet and 
stormy day during our stay there, in the year 1884, 
I was watching for a fresh in the river, and from 
the house 1 could see that the water was slowly 
rising; so I sallied forth Avith rod and gaff" and my 
trusty attendant, And}^ Hallissy. We got into the 
boat, and he began to pull us across, while I 
remained standing up, with the rod in one hand and 
the gaff in the other. We had got about halfway, 
Avhen a sudden gust of wind drove us against the 
rope, which caught me across the chest, and sent me 
spinning over the gunwale of the boat into the 
water. I at once struck out to swim ashore, but 
found that I made no progress, the reason, which I 
soon discovered, being that Andy had firm hold of 
the tails of my coat. " Let go, Andy," T said, " and 
I'll be ashore in a minute." '' Begorra, T w^on't let 
you go," said Andy, ''until you catch hold of the 



IRISH AIVD SCOTCH 285 

gunwale of the boat ; and I'll pull you over myself.-' 
Within an hour I had been up to the house, had 
changed iny clothes, and Avas playing a salmon. 

At Killarney I heard the following story, which 
shows how differently an Irishman and a Scotchman 
will take a joke. An Englishman, who had been 
fishing the lower lake, said to his boatman, " An 
extraordinary thing happened to me some years ago. 
I lost a pair of scissors out of my fishing book at the 
edge of the lake. The next year I was fishing here 
again and hooked and killed a very large pike. I 
felt something hard inside him, so I opened him, 
and what do you think it was?" '' Begorra, then, 
your honour, I'd think it moight be your scissors 
only for one little thing." ''What is that?" asked 
the other. " It's only just this, your honour, that 
there never was a pike in any of the Killarney lakes 
since the w^orld began." 

Afterwards he tried the same story with a gillie 
in Scotland. When he asked him, "What do you 
think was inside him ? " the gillie replied, '' Your 
scissors and nae guts; and the Duke of Argyll — 
and he's a far greater man than the king — would 
not have insulted me sae. I'll fish nae mare wi 
ye ; " and off he walked. 

At Lareen, the fishing quarters of my brother-in- 
law, the late Chief Justice May, I was fishing down 
the Bundrowse river, accompanied by his keeper 



286 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

Watt. I was crossing to an island by some stepping- 
stones, when he called out to me not to go that way 
as the stones were slippery; "and," said he, "you 
might fall in as his lordship did the other day ; but 
I have made a nice little bridge at the other end of 
the island, and he never crosses by the stones now.'' 

" I suppose," said I, " he dreads the Avater as a 
burnt child dreads the fire." 

" That's just it," said Watt. " But maybe you 
don't know who it was that invented that saying." 

" I do not know," I said. " I don't think it was 
Solomon." 

" E"o, it wasn't him," said he ; " it was my grand- 
father." 

"Indeed," said I. "I thought it was more 
ancient." 

""Well, it isn't, though it's wonderful how well 
known it is ; but it was my grandfather that first 
said it. You see, sir, this was the way it came 
about. My grandfather was a smith, and he saw 
the minister coming down towards the forge to pay 
him a visit, and for a bit of a joke he threw a small 
bit of iron he was forging on the ground ; it was 
nearly red hot. When the minister came in, after 
a little talk, my grandfather says to him, ' Minister, 
might I trouble you to hand me up that bit of iron 
there at your feet ? ' So minister picked it up ; but 
I can tell you he dropped it quick enough, for it 



THE ORIGIN OF A PROVERB 287 

burnt his fingers. Just that minute my father and 
my uncle came into the force — they were wee 
chaps then — and my grandfather he says to them, 
' Boys, hand me up that bit of iron.' Well, the 
little fellows they knelt down and just spit on the 
iron to see was it too hot ; so my grandfather he 
began to laugh at the minister, and says to him, 
' Well now, minister, with all your book-reading 
and learning you see you haven't the wit of them 
two small chaps.' ^ Ah ! ' says minister, ' I suppose 
you played them that trick before, and they didn't 
want to burn their fingers again.' ' That's just it, 
minister,' says my grandfather. ' You see, a burnt 
child dreads the fire.' So the minister told the story 
everywhere, and that's the way the saying got 
spread all over the country. So, j^ou see, my grand- 
father invented it." 

This Watt had been keeper to Lord Massey, 
from whom my brother-in-law rented the ])lace, 
and the fishing and shooting ; and I think it w^as 
with him that Lord Spencer many years before 
had rather an amusing adventure. In May, 1870, 
during his first viceroyalty Lord Spencer asked 
me to accompany him and Lady Spencer part 
of the way on a tour they were about to make 
through the north and north-west of Ireland. 
After having visited Lough Erne, Enniskillen, and 
Belleek, we arrived at Bundoran late in the evening. 



288 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

and here I was to have left them. Loi'd Spencer, 
lioAvever, pressed me to remain with them the next 
day in order to go with him to fish the Bundrowse 
river, which he said Lord Massey had invited him 
to try if he should ever be in the neighbourhood. I 
should have greatly liked to do so, as I had never 
seen the Bundrowse, and had heard much of it not 
only as a salmon river, but as famous for the curious 
and beautiful gillaroo trout, which abound in it and 
in Lough Melvin, from which it flows to the sea. 
Unfortunately, however, engagements in Dublin 
necessitated my departure, and I left them next 
morning before they started for Lareen, which lies 
about four miles to the south of Bundoran. 

I did not see Lord Spencer till about ten days 
afterwards, when I Avas dining at the Viceregal 
Lodge. I then asked him whether he had had good 
sport the day I left him. 

" Didn't you hear what happened ? " he said. 
"We had a funny adventure, but no fishing. We 
arrived," he went on, "at the river and had just 
put up our rods, when a keeper appeared and 
inquired whether we had an order from Lord 
Massey. Freddy Campbell ( — he was then Lord 
Spencer's aide-de-camp — ) explained to him who we 
were, and that Lord Massey had asked me to fish. 
The keeper replied, ' If you haven't a written order 
I won't let you fish, not even if you were the king, 



LORD SPENCER AND THE KEEPER 289 

let alone the lord lieutenant.' Persuasion was 
useless ; the keeper was inexorable, and we had 
to take down our rods and return sadly to 
Bundoran." 

''Oh, sir," I said, "Lord Massey will be greatly 
annoyed and very angry about it." 

" ]S'o," he said ; " I took care about that. I wrote 
to him the same day to tell him that I was delighted 
to have found such an honest and trustworthy 
keeper." 



290 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 



CHAPTEE XYIII 

Illicit stills — Getting a reward — Poteen — Past and present — 
Dress and dwellings — Marriage and language — Material 
improvement since 1850. 

Some twenty years ago one of my sons, then a boy, 
and I were on a fishing excursion in the county of 
Donegal. We were staying at the little village of 
Glen, close by Glen Lough, in rooms over a public- 
house, kept by one Dolty McGarvey. After a few 
days he had become a great friend of ours. I knew 
a great deal of poteen (illicit w^hisky) was distilled 
there, and as I had, in all my rambles, never seen an 
illicit still, 1 greatly wished to see one. I imparted 
my wish to Dolty, and he at once said he would 
take us to see one the next day; so early on the 
morrow he brought us some miles across wild hills 
and bogs till we arrived at the house of a farmer, 
who was his partner in the still. They brought 
us on some way till we came to a lane, well sheltered 
by thorn bushes, where, by a little stream, three 
sons of Dolty's partner, fine young fellows as I 
ever saw, were working at the still. They wore 
stockino:s, but no shoes, and told us that by that 



ILLICIT DISTILLING 291 

means, in case of alarm, they could run more quickly 
over rocks and rough ground than if they were 
barefoot or had shoes. We sat on a bank, and they 
drank our health and we drank theirs, in a little 
measure, not much bigger than a thimble, of the 
poteen hot from the still. I asked Dolty Avhether 
the smoke ever attracted the attention of the police. 
He said that the distilling itself made so little smoke 
that it was unnoticed at a short distance, but that 
drying the malt made a great deal, and it was then 
they had to be careful. 

" How do you manage to escape, then ? " I asked. 

" Ah ! " said he, '' we always dry the malt in the 
beginning of July, when all the police are taken off 
to Derry to put down the riots there ; so we can do 
it safely then. God is good, sir ; God is good." 

A few mornings after this he roused us up very 
early, and told us to look out of our window, from 
which we saw five policemen carrying in triumph 
through the village a still, Avhich they had just 
seized. Dolty w^as in fits of laughter. On our 
asking what he laughed at, he told us that the still 
was an old one, quite worn out. 

" Look at the holes in it," he said. " Some one 
has given information to the police where they 
would find it. We often play them that trick, and 
sometimes get a pound rew^ard for an old still that 
isn't w^orth sixpence." 



292 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

On our return to Dublin I told my friend T 

of our adventures. An Englishman he was, on the 
Lord Lieutenant's (Lord Spencer) staff; he had 
been studying Irish characters and habits, and was 
most anxious to see an illicit still at work, so off he 
set to Glen, and put up at Dolty McGarvey's. The 
morning after his arrival — it was rather premature 
— he said to him — 

" Can you take me to see a still at work ? T should 
like to see one.'' 

" There is no still in the country," said Dolty. 

''Nonsense," said T . "You took Mr. Le 

Fanu to see one." 

"Who told you that, sir?" said Dolty. "I 
couldn't show him one, for there is not one 
here." 

" 'Twas Mr. Le Fanu himself who told me," said 
T . 

"He was humbugging you," said McGarvey. 
" He never saw a still here." 

Before I again visited that part of Donegal 
Dolty McGarvey had died, so I never heard why he 
wouldn't do by my friend as he had done by us. 

Perhaps he had seen the ro3^al arms on T 's 

despatch-box, or on the seals on letters from the 
Castle, and feared he might be a detective or a spy ; 
but whatever it w^as, my friend's wish to see a still 
at work has never been gratified. 



AN ISLAND OF SAINTS 293 

It is a curious fact that in parts of Donegal they 
grow a crop of oats and barley mixed ; they call it 
pracas (which is the Irish for a mixture), and use it 
for no other purpose but illicit distilling. 

Since the time of my visit to the still with Dolty 
McGarvey, illicit distilling in that part of Donegal 
has, I believe, much diminislied, owing to a great 
extent to the exertions of the late Lord Leitrim, 
whose early death has been such a loss not only to 
his own tenantry, whose welfare he always had at 
heart, and by whom he was much beloved, but to 
the whole of the countryside, which he had benefited 
in m.any ways, especially by the establishment of 
steamers plying between Mulroy Bay and Glasgow. 
But though illicit distilling has to a great extent died 
out on the mainland, it has been found impossible 
to suppress it on the islands off the west coast. 
Constabulary had for some time been stationed on 
several of the largest of these islands, but they were 
in some cases withdrawn about eighteen months ago. 
Whatever the reasons for this step may have been, the 
results cannot but be disastrous to the inhabitants 
of the islands and tiie adjoining parts of the main- 
land, to which the poteen is easily smuggled. It is 
only a fe^v days ago that I received a letter from a 
friend of mine who had just visited one of the islands 
off the coast of Sligo. The following is an extract 
from his letter : — 



294 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

'' We made an expedition to Inishmurray the day before 
yesterday. . . . We saw the old churches and the beehive cells, 
and the image of Father Molash. The island was once an 
island of the saints; it is now one of devils. Most of the men 
were more or less drunk ; the air seemed laden with fumes of 
poteen. We saw a couple of stills, one at work. The school- 
master says that the children are getting quite dull and stupid 
from being constantly given tastes of the whisky." 

The manufacture is an ancient one. No doubt the 
''Aqua Yitae," which Holinshed in his "Chronicles" 
mentions as an " ordinarie drinke " of the inhabitants, 
was nothing but the poteen of the olden times. I 
cannot do better than to give a quotation of the 
passage in the "Chronicles," in which its wonderful 
virtues are so well described. 

"The soile is low and waterish, including diverse little 
Islands, invironed with lakes and marrish. Highest hils have 
standing pooles in their tops. Inhabitants, especiallie new come, 
are subject to distillations, rheumes and fluxes. For remedie 
whereof they use an Ordinarie drink of Aqu?e Yitae, being so 
qualified in the making, that it drieth more and also inflameth 
lesse than other hot confections doo. One Theoricus wrote a 
proper treatise of Aquae Vitse wherein he praiseth it to the 
ninth degree. He distinguisheth three sorts thereof. Simplex, 
Composita, and Perfectisima. He declareth the simples and 
ingrediences thereto belonging. He wisheth it to be taken as 
well before meat as after. It drieth up the breaking out of 
hands, and killeth the flesh worms, if you wash your hands 
therewith. It scowreth all scurfe and scalds from the head, 
being therewith dailie washt before meales. Being moderatlie 
taken (Saith he) it sloweth age, it strengthneth youth, it helpetli 



A LONG SEA VOYAGE 295 

digestion, it cutteth flegmej it abaudoneth melancholie, it 
relisheth the heart, it lighteneth the mind, it quickeneth the 
spirits, it cureth the hydropsie, it healeth the strangurie, it 
keepeth and preserveth the head from whirling, the eies from 
dazeling, the toong from lisping, the mouth from maffling, the 
teeth from chattering, and the throte from ratling : it keepeth 
the weasan from Stifling, the Stomach from wambling, and the 
heart from swelling, the hands from shivering, the sinewes 
from shrinking, the veines from crumpling, the bones from 
aking, the marrow from soaking. Ulstadius also ascribeth 
thereto a singular praise, and would have it to burne being 
kindled, which he taketh to be a token to know the goodnesse 
thereof. And trulie it is a sovereigne liquor if it be Orderlie 
taken." 

It is hard to realize how great the change in 
nearly everything has been since my early days. 

I was a child Avhen steam vessels first plied be- 
tween England and Ireland ; before that passengers 
and mails, as well as goods, were carried across the 
channel by sailing vessels. 

The mail-boats started from the Pigeon-house, 
near Dublin. In bad weather the voyage often 
occupied some days, and in view of a not improbable 
long sea voyage, each passenger took with him a 
hamper of provisions, which, if the passage proved 
a good one, was given to the captain as a perquisite. 
A ferry-boat carried passengers and mails across the 
Menai Straits. 

I remember well the opening of the first railway 
in England. I had entered college before one 



296 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

existed here. The earliest was that from Dublin to 
Kingstown, on which I travelled in the first train 
that ever ran in Ireland. 

I can recollect the time, before gas was used as an 
illuminant, when towns and cities were lighted by 
oil lamps. It was in those da^^s that an old lady, 
on being told that oil would be altogether superseded 
by gas, asked with a sigh, " And what will the poor 
whales do ? " 

There were no matches in my early days ; the 
want was supplied by flint and steel or tinder-box. 

I need hardly say there were no telegraphs nor 
telephones nor photographs. '' The world, indeed, 
has wagged a pace." 

In the dress and habits of the country people, too, 
there has been much change. The dress of girls 
and women on Sundays and holidays is now as close 
an imitation as they can afford or procure of that of 
fashionable ladies. Formerly, instead of shawls or 
capes, they Avore over a simple gown a long cloak 
with a hood. In many parts of the south it was of 
bright scarlet cloth, the hood lined with pink silk. 
Hats and bonnets were unknown. Girls had noth- 
ing on their heads; married women wore many- 
bordered, high-cauled caps. The men all wore 
corduroy knee-breeches, bright coloured waistcoats, 
and frieze coats, made like an evening coat. 

The red cloaks and w^hite caps, contrasting with 



HEADS AND POINTS'' 



297 



the grey and blue frieze, gave a wonderfully pict- 
uresque effect to a funeral or other procession, where 
all walked, except some farmers, who rode with 
their wives on pillions behind them. This effect 
in funerals was heightened by the wild, wailing Irish 
cry, "keened" by many women all the way from 
the home to the grave. I^ow it is only heard in the 
churchj^ard, and rarely even there. 

In the food of the people, too, there has been 
great improvement. In old days most of them had 
nothing but potatoes ; now there are very few who 
have not, in addition, bread and tea, and not unfre- 
quently meat of some kind. 

Their dwellings also are much improved. For- 
merly the number of cabins with but one room or two, 
a kitchen and a bedroom, was very large. In them 
there were two beds, in one of which slept the father 
and mother of the family ; in the other, the children, 
who lay (as they call it) heads and points, the heads 
of the boys being at one end of the bed, those of the 
girls at the other. These houses Avere built of mud. 
Most of them had no windows ; only a hole in the 
wall to let out the smoke. Such dwellings are 
disappearing fast, and ere many years none of them 
will, I trust, be left. The houses built in recent 
years are comfortable and substantial. 

^ow in every house there are candles or a lamp. 
Formerly, as a rule, there were neither ; the inmates 



298 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

sat and talked by the light of the turf fire, and if 
anything had to be searched for they lit a rush, 
which served in lieu of a candle. Of them there was 
a good supply. They were pealed rushes, dried, and 
drawn through melted grease or oil. The peasants 
who came to us for medicine always begged for 
castor-oil. We suspected they generally wanted it 
not for their own insides, but for the outsides of their 
rushes ; all the more because we knew that they had 
a strong objection to take it as a medicine, believing, 
as many of them did, that it was made from human 
flesh boiled down. This is why an angry man would 
say to another — or, for that matter, to his wife if 
she annoyed him — " It's what I ought to put you 
into the pot on the fire and boil you into castor- 
oil." 

The arrangements as to marriages have not 
changed as much as other things. It very often 
happened, and sometimes happens still, that the 
bride and bridegroom never saw each other till the 
wedding day, or a day or two before it, the match 
being made by the parents, assisted by the priest. 
Of course there were love matches too ; but they 
were the exceptions. 

Farmers had a great objection to their younger 
daughters being married before the elder ones. A 
tenant of my brother-in-law. Sir William Barrington, 
came to tell him that his daughter Margaret had 



THE IRISH LANGUAGE ^299 

been married the day before to Pat Kyan. " How 
is that," said he. '' He tokl me it was your daughter 
Mary he Avas going to marry?" "So it was, your 
honour," said the farmer. " 'Twas her he was 
courting, but I made him take Margaret. Wasn't 
she my ouldest daughter ? and I wouldn't let him be 
runnin' through the family that way, taking his 
pick and choice of them." Mary was young and 
pretty, Margaret passes and plain. It was probably 
in such a case that a man, boasting of the kindness 
of his father-in-law, said, " Sure he gave me his 
ouldest daughter, and if he had an oulder one he'd 
have given her to me." 

The greater part of the income of the priests 
was derived from weddings. There was always a 
collection for " his raverence." At the wedding of 
the daughter of a farmer, Tom Dundon, living near 
us at Abington, at which I was present, the priest 
got over thirty pounds. That was one of the cases 
in which the bride and bridegroom never met until 
their wedding day, and a very happy married life 
they had. 

J^fot the least remarkable of the changes in recent 
years is the rapidity with which the Irish language 
is dying out, and in many districts has died out. 
This is mainly due to the education in the national 
schools, where all the teaching is in English, and to 
the want of books or newspapers in Irish. 



300 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

In the counties of Limerick and Tipperary, when 
I was a boy, many of the old people could speak 
Irish only ; middle-aged men and women knew both 
English and Irish, but always spoke the latter to each 
other; boj^s and girls understood both languages, 
but almost always spoke in English. Now it is only 
very old men and women who know Irish there ; 
the young people do not understand it, and cannot 
tell the meaning of any Irish word. The same 
process is going on, though not everywhere so 
rapidly, in every district, Avhere fifty years ago 
Irish was the language of the people; and I fear 
that, notwithstanding the endeavours of a society 
started not long ago to keep it alive, the Irish 
language will before another fifty years be dead. 



ELECTRO-BIOLOGY 30 1 



CHAPTER XIX 

The science of hj^pnotism — Early experiments and lessons — A 
drink of cider — I convert Isaac Butt — All wrong — A danger- 
ous power. 

I HAVE hitherto dealt almost entirely with my 
recollections of Ireland and Irishmen, but it may not 
be uninteresting if I insert a brief account of my 
personal experiences in a science, if it may be so 
called, which is still full of difficulty and mystery. 
I have ventured to call it a science, as the study 
given to it in recent years in France and else- 
where has led to a greater sense of its importance 
than formerly existed. I refer to hypnotism, or 
electro-biology, as it was called when I first experi- 
mented in it, from its supposed connection with 
electricity, and with the relation, of electricity to 
human life. 

As many people may never have witnessed the 
extraordinary phenomena connected with it, or may 
have only seen them at public exhibitions, and 
consequently believed them to be merely the result 
of collusion between the exhibitor and some of his 
audience, I will give some instances of experiments 



302 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

1 myself made many years ago, though they have, 
no doubt, been frequently repeated since by others. 

It was over forty years ago that my attention was 
first called to the subject. I happened, when in 
London in 1851, to attend a public exhibition given 
by a man name^. Stone, and submitted myself as one 
of the subjects for his experiments. I found he was 
able to affect me to some extent, though only as far 
as my muscular movements were concerned. He 
could not get further than preventing me from 
opening or shutting my eyes, or from speaking 
without stuttering; but a friend who accompanied 
me was completely under his control. I was so 
much interested — for I had gone believing that the 
exhibition was a farce — that I called on Stone a 
few days afterwards to see whether I could learn 
anything from him. He gave me a lesson in his 
method of proceeding, and supplied me with a 
number of small discs of zinc, about an inch in 
diameter, with a piece of copper inserted in the 
centre. One of these was placed in the hand of 
each subject, who was told to look at it and keep 
quiet for a short time. The supposition was that 
these discs had, from their composition, some electric 
effect. But I subsequently found that they were 
quite unnecessary, and that any other small object 
would do as well ; in fact, in some cases, especially 
w^here the conversation had been for some time on 



EARLY EXPERIMENTS 303 

the subject, no preliminary preparation at all was 
required. 

I very soon afterwards began experimenting on 
my own account. My usual method was to place 
one of the discs I have mentioned or any small 
object in the hand of each of the persons to be ex- 
perimented on, and to ask them to remain quiet for a 
few minutes — I did not find that more than five 
minutes was ever required — I then removed the 
discs and told each subject to close his eyes, and to 
keep them closed till I returned. As soon as I had 
removed the disc from the last of them, I returned 
to the first, and pressing my left hand on his head 
and holding his hand in my right, I said to him, 
" You can't open your eyes ; 1 defy you to open your 
eyes." If be opened his eyes without difficulty or 
evident exertion, I knew at once he would not make 
a good subject, and went no further with him. I 
generally found, however, that out of a dozen per- 
sons, there were one or two wdio either could not 
open their eyes at all or did so wath much difficulty. 
They frequently said it was because I was pressing 
my left hand so hard on their foreheads. In such 
cases I at once repeated the experiment without 
putting my hand to their head, but still holding 
their hand with mine. They were never able to 
open their eyes, but often made one more struggle, 
saying that it w^as my holding their hand w^hich 



304 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

prevented them. I then repeated the experiment a 
third time without touching them at all, and invari- 
ably with the same result. 

I next went on to other experiments, first trying 
those which only affected, their muscular action, such 
as preventing them from opening their mouths, and 
making them jump or stand in one spot as long as I 
wished. When I wanted to permit the subjects 
to regain their freedom of will, I always said " All 
right"; and it is a curious fact that if, when they 
were entirely under my influence, I even acciden- 
tally happened to sa3^ "All right," they at once 
recovered. I frequently found that I could not get 
beyond these muscular effects, but over the best 
subjects I was able to obtain such complete mastery, 
that they at once saw, believed, and did anything I 
suggested. I purposely use this word, for I found 
that however good the subject or complete my power 
over him, I could not make him do anything with- 
out actual verbal suggestion. I have repeatedly 
tried wdth the very best subjects to affect them by 
the power of my will alone, and never with the 
slightest success. How great this power of sugges- 
tion w^as, may be gathered from a few instances. 

Amongst many good subjects, whom I had found 
soon after I began experimenting, was a youth, a 
nephew of Hackett, the well-known fishing-tackle 
manufacturer in Cork. I had been talking one day 



SUGGESTION 305 

on the subject of electro- biology to Father O' Sul- 
livan, whom I have already mentioned under his 
name of Father Eufus, and he told me he could not 
believe in the possibility of such phenomena. I asked 
him to come some day and see me experiment with 
this youth. A few days afterwards he met me at 
Hackett's house, and in his presence I made the boy 
imagine he was a dog and bark ; see a cherry tree 
growing out of the table, pluck the fruit off it, and 
offer it to us ; and, in fact, do and see anything I 
suggested to him. 

Father Rufus was still unconvinced, and evi- 
dently half thought that there might be collusion. 
He asked me to come into another room, and, taking 
a bottle from his pocket, said — 

" If you make him drink this and think it is 
delicious cider, I shall admit that there is something 
in it." 

On being assured by him that the contents of 
the bottle were perfectly harmless, I emptied it into 
a glass, returned to the other room, and said to the 
lad — 

'' I'm going to give you the nicest cider you ever 
drank. Don't drink it off too quickly, for it is 
particularly nice." 

He sipped it with the greatest delight till the 
glass was nearly empty, when I restored him to his 
ordinary senses by saying "All right." His gri- 



3o6 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

maces were wonderful to behold, and he w^as nearly 
sick. Father Kufus w^as absolutely convinced. He 
had been to a chemist and had asked him to prepare 
a mixture of the most disgusting and nauseous, but 
at the same time harmless, drugs, and this was the 
stuff wiiich the unfortunate youth had sipped with 
such evident relish. 

I have often given subjects a piece of common 
yellow soap, telling them it was a delicious cake. 
They always showed signs of the greatest enjoy- 
ment as they bit off a piece and began to munch it. 
I took care before they had time to swallow any of 
it to undeceive them, and I need hardly say they 
never showed any desire to swallow it after the 
magic words " All right " w^ere spoken, w^hile their 
grimaces were quite as amusing as those of the youth 
in Cork when he drank his cider. 

Another unbeliever whom I converted was Isaac 
Butt. He and two fellow barristers were at the 
assizes in Cork, and came out to spend the day with 
me at Rathpeacon. I had no subjects whom I had 
before tried at hand, so in the evening I got eight 
lads who had been at work on the railway, which 
I had been constructing there. After the usual pre- 
liminary trials, I found two who were perfectly 
susceptible to my influence. I made them go through 
many performances, and among other things I pre- 
vented them from picking up a shilling from the 



A SEVERE TEST 307 

ground. Butt objected that I might easily have 
promised them half a crown not to pick up the 
shilling. I told him that he might apply any test 
he wished. 

" Try them," he said, " with five pounds, and I'll 
believe it." 

I put five sovereigns on the gravel drive where 
we were standing, and said to the lads, " Boys, you 
shall have those five sovereigns if you can take them 
up; but your fingers cannot go within an inch of 
them." 

It was wonderful to see the struggle they made, 
and how they rooted up the gravel to within an inch 
of the little pile of money, but they could not touch 
it. To complete Butt's conversion, I placed the fiYQ 
sovereigns on the hand of one of the lads, and said 
to him — 

" If you keep those on your hand for three 
minutes, you shall, on my word of honour, have 
them for yourself." 

I told Butt to take the time by his watch, and 
then said to the boy, " They're burning your hand — 
they're burning a hole in your hand ; if you keep 
them any longer they will burn a hole right through 
your hand." 

The lad began blowing on his hand and moving 
the coins, as if they were burnin": him, and, lono^ 
before the time was up, flung them on the ground 



3o8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

with a cry of pain. Butt all the thne had been 
patting him on the back and telling him to keep 
the coins for it was all humbug ; but the answer 
was — 

" What a humbug it is ! Can't you see my hand 
is destroyed ? Look at the hole in it." 

I have recently read of cases where a subject is 
said to have been affected by some one from a dis- 
tance, but, in those cases at least in which the effect 
is produced by a telegram, it appears to me to be 
practically nothing more nor less than suggestion. 
I have myself sometimes made suggestion produce 
its effect, after I had left the subject. I remember 
one day as 1 was leaving my gate lodge to walk in 
to Cork, I said to my gatekeeper's servant-girl, who 
had already shown herself a good subject, " When I 
pass Ben Deeble's Mill, your eyes will shut, and they 
will not open again till I come home from Cork in 
the evening." The mill was about a quarter of a 
mile down the road, and I knew that curiosity would 
make her watch me till I passed it. The moment I 
got by the mill, I ran back to the lodge, and here I 
found the gatekeeper and his wife endeavouring to 
open the girl's eyes, which were shut fast. Their 
efforts were all in vain. As soon as they raised the 
eyelid of one eye and turned their attention to the 
other, the one they had opened closed again ; and I 
have no doubt, if I had not intervened, her eyes 
would have remained shut till the evening. 



GOOD SUBJECTS 309 

It would be tedious to multiply instances. There 
was absolutely nothing that I could not persuade 
a person once under control to do or see. I have 
made a lady, who had the greatest horror of rats, 
imagine that my pocket-handkerchief, which I held 
rolled up in my hand, was one, and when she rushed 
away terrified, I made her think she was a cat, and 
she at once began to mew, seized the pocket-handker- 
chief in her teeth, and shook it. I have made people 
believe they were hens, judges, legs of mutton, gen- 
erals, frogs, and famous men ; and this in rapid 
succession. Indeed, so complete was their obedi- 
ence, that I have again and again refused, when 
asked, to suggest to them that they were dead. 
I was really afraid of the result that might possibly 
ensue. 

After a person had been once successfully experi- 
mented on, it was not necessary, except possibly 
after a long interval, to repeat any of the prelimi- 
naries. I have often met a subject days and even 
weeks after he had been first affected, and have 
found him at once under my control. I remember 

meeting a Mr. D in the street in Cork, and after 

exchanging a few words of ordinary conversation, I 
suddenly said to him, '• Good-bye ; you can't stir 
from that spot, till I come back ; *' and there he was 
fixed, in spite of all his entreaties, till I chose to let 
him go, which I did in a minute or two, when I saw 
passers-by attracted b\^ his struggles to move on. 



310 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

It might be supposed that such experiments might 
have made one unpopular with those affected ; but I 
always found that so far from diminishing any 
friendly feelings that existed, they appeared to 
strengthen them. 

Once, and once only, did I feel myself in a diffi- 
culty. I had made a cousin of mine unable to speak 
w^ithout stuttering. To my horror, the magic words 
" All right " failed to produce their usual effect, and, 
in spite of all my efforts, I could not restore the 
power of speaking properly ; in fact, my cousin con- 
tinued to stutter more or less for some weeks. 

I gave up experimenting long ago, and from 
all that I have since read and heard on the subject, 
I think it is not one which should be meddled ^vith 
except by those who are really investigating it 
scientifically ; for as I learnt, from the instance I 
have just mentioned, it is impossible to know what 
may occur; and although the effects are undoubt- 
edly very amusing to watch, they may possibly be 
more injurious to the person affected than they 
appear to be ; while the power is so great that in 
the hands of an unscrupulous person it might be- 
come very dangerous. 



CATHOLIC EMANCIPATION 311 



CHAPTEE XX 

Catholic emancipation, 1829 — Tlie tithe war of 1832 — The great 
famine of 1846 — The Fenian agitation of 1865 — France 
against England — Land-hunger — Crime and combination — 
Last words. 

As I have passed a long life, well over seventy 
years, almost altogether in Ireland, and have con- 
stantly come in contact with every class in the 
country, and as I may, I think, fairly claim to have 
a considerable knowledge of its people, I trust I 
shall be excused for making a few remarks, before 
I conclude this book, on the present state of affairs, 
as seen by one who has personally observed the 
many agitations and the many changes in the con- 
dition of the country, which have occurred since the 
early part of the century. 

The first great agitation which I remember was 
that for Catholic emancipation, which was granted 
in 1829 under the pressure of a fear of an Irish 
rebellion. The great meetings and marchings to 
which I have already referred, had led the Duke 
of Wellington, then Prime Minister, to fear that 
Ireland was ripe for a rebellion, more serious than 
that of '98, the danger and bloodshed of which he 



312 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

was unwilling to face. I can well remember the 
exaggerated notions the peasantry had of all the 
benefits they were to derive from the measure. 
Wages were at once to be doubled, and constant, 
well-paid employment to be given to every man. 

My father and mother had been always ardently 
in favour of Catholic emancipation, and were de- 
lighted when the Act was passed. On the night 
when the news that the bill had become law reached 
our part of the country, we were all assembled to 
see the bonfires which blazed on all the mountains 
and hills around us, and I well remember the shout- 
ing and rejoicings on the road that passed our gate, 
and the hearty cheers given for us. I specially 
recollect one man, a farmer named James Fleming, 
generally known as Shamus Oge (Young James), 
being asked by some one in the crowd what eman- 
cipation meant. " It means," said he, " a shilling 
a day for every man as long as he lives, whatever 
he does." The ordinary wages of the labourers 
were then sixpence a day. 

We little thought on that night how soon we 
should see the same fires lighted all around us, 
when any of the clergy near us had suffered out- 
rage, or how soon, without any change on our part, 
we should be hooted and shouted at whenever we 
appeared. 

It is now nearly forgotten that in 1825, four 



THE TITHE WAR OF 1832 313 

years earlier, a bill for Catholic emancipation was 
passed in the House of Commons, and at the same 
time a bill by virtue of which the Eoman Catholic 
priests would have received payment from the 
State, and been made entirely independent of the 
voluntary contributions of their congregations. One 
of the main facts that has to be borne in mind by 
any one who desires to judge fairly of the influence 
exercised by the Roman Catholic priesthood over 
their people in any great crisis is this, that they are 
so entirely dependent for their sole means of sup- 
port on the goodwill of the people, that they must 
always to a greater extent than is desirable follow, 
instead of lead, those over whom they are placed. 
If this bill had passed into law, there can be little 
doubt that the whole influence of the Eoman Cath- 
olic priesthood would have been thrown into the 
opposite scale from that in which it has been during 
the last fifty years, and that the whole course of 
events in Ireland would have been very different. 
The bills were, however, unfortunately thrown out 
by the House of Lords, and when emancipation was 
granted, it was not accompanied by the other meas- 
ure Avhich had in 1825 been joined to it. 

After the passing of the Emancipation Act com- 
parative quiet reigned in the country till 1832, 
when the tithe war, with all its outrages, began. 
This agitation was carried out by O' Connelly on 



314 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

nearly the same lines as that for emancipation, and 
was crowned with like success. But the abolition 
of tithes did not bring to the peasantry all the bene- 
fits they expected ; it merely changed the tithe into 
a rent-charge payable to the landlords, who were 
made liable for the payment of the clergy. 

The success which attended the agitations for 
Catholic emancipation and for the abolition of tithes 
— which success was in large measure due to the 
fear the English people entertained of an Irish re- 
bellion — led O'Connell to commence his agitation 
for the repeal of the union. This, however, failed, 
and its failure resulted in O'Connell's fall. 

Great meetings had been held all through the 
country, at which O'Connell and others had used 
language more threatening than had been ventured 
on in the former agitations. Encouraged by the 
non-interference of the Government, O'Connell an- 
nounced that a monster meeting would be held at 
Clontarf, close to Dublin, on Sunday, the 8th of 
September, 1843. 

The Government determined that the meeting 
should not take place, a proclamation was issued 
forbidding it ; and it was arranged that all the 
leaders of the agitation should be arrested. The 
duty of arresting O'Connell himself was assigned 
to Colonel Brown, the Chief Commissioner of Police, 
whom I have alreadv mentioned in connection with 



THE REPEAL A G/T AT/OAT 315 

my only attempt to enlist in that force. The excite- 
ment was intense ; but at the last moment O'Connell 
struck his colours, and issued a second proclamation 
forbidding the people to meet. I was at Clontarf 
on the day fixed for the meeting. Nearly the 
whole of the garrison of Dublin — horse, foot, and 
artillery — was there, but no meeting was held. The 
subsequent prosecution and imprisonment of O'Con- 
nell and the other principal leaders put a complete 
stop to the agitation ; and although it is true that 
their conviction was shortly afterwards quashed, 
after an appeal to the House of Lords, O'Connell's 
power was gone for ever. 

Before the next agitation of any moment, the 
great famine of 1846-7 occurred. Up to that time 
the number of the people, and their poverty, steadily 
increased, and the first change for the better in 
their condition, Avithin my memory, was subsequent, 
and in a great measure due, to that terrible afflic- 
tion. It put a stop in some degree to the subdivision 
of holdings, which had been carried on to such an 
extent, that in many parts of the countrj^ the 
holdings were so small that even had they been 
rent free they would have been insufficient for the 
maintenance of their occupiers. It forced the 
people not to depend in future on the potatoes as 
their staple food, and it led to some extent to 
better cultivation of the soil. The famine had hardly 



3i6 SEVENTY YEARS OE IRISH LIFE 

ended when Smith O'Brien's abortive rebellion oc- 
curred. Although earnest and able men — such as 
O'Brien himself, Tom Davies, Meagher, Mitchell, 
and others — were the leaders in the movement, it 
was an almost ludicrous failure ; the hearts of the 
people were not in it, and the Roman Catholic 
priesthood were opposed to it. 

For seventeen years after this time no agita- 
tion worth recording arose, and, with the exception 
of some isolated outrages, peace prevailed in the 
country, and the prosperity of all classes increased. 
Then in 1865 the Fenian Society came into exist- 
ence, and continued to increase in power and in 
the number of members enrolled, until in February, 
1866, the Habeas Corpus Act was suspended. Im- 
mediately before this a large number of Americans 
or Irish-Americans, easiW recognizable by their 
dress and appearance, were to be met walking about 
the streets of Dublin. These gentlemen must some- 
how have got a hint of Avhat was about to happen, 
for on the day before the suspension of the Act their 
sudden disappearance from the city was as remark- 
able as their previous appearance there had been. 
This conspiracy was not completely put down till 
March, 1867, when the principal Fenian army 
succumbed at Tallaght, a few miles from Dublin, 
to twelve men of the Royal Irish Constabulary, and 
smaller risings in other parts of Ireland at the same 
time were easily suppressed. 



THE BATTLE OF TALLAGHT 317 

What I have called the principal Fenian army 
was in reality only a mob of half -armed and utterly 
undisciplined Dublin youths, who had assembled 
near this village of Tallaght. When opposed by 
the small force of constabulary, who fired a few 
shots, they retired to a neighbouring hill. Many 
of them dispersed during the night, but a con- 
siderable number remained till the morning, when 
they surrendered to a military force, and were 
marched into Dublin, I did not mj^self see the 
prisoners, but I remember m}^ brother telling me 
how he had seen them, so tired out that, wet as it 
was, they were lying about on the ground in the 
Castle yard. My brother's pantry-boy had joined 
the army, but was one of those who escaped being 
made prisoner, and he used to give a most interest- 
ing account of the Battle of Tallaght. 

The agitation for Home Kule, begun by Isaac 
Butt, never appeared to me to have an}^ reality 
in it until Parnell became the leader of the move- 
ment. 

Looking back on these various agitations to 
which I have briefly referred, it appears to me that 
none of those which appealed merely to the anti- 
English sentiment of the people, ever obtained any 
real hold of the peasantry. Those which did succeed 
appealed to feelings of an entirely different nature, 
and aimed at the abolition of some religious in- 



3i8 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

equality or some pecuniary burden, and there are 
few who would now deny the justice of Catholic 
emancipation and of the abolition of the tithe 
system in Ireland. 

I do not mean to suggest, by what I have just 
written, that the anti-English feeling is not a real 
thing. It is, on the contrary, as far as my obser- 
vation goes, a very deep and far-reaching sentiment ; 
and I have had opportunities of forming an opinion, 
from conversations with many of the peasantry in 
different parts of the country, whom I have known 
from their early youth, and who have not been 
afraid, as they generally are, to tell the real feelings 
entertained by themselves and their neighbours. 

Their chief hope has always appeared to lie in a 
successful rebellion, by the aid of America, or, possi- 
bly, of France. Many of them have looked forward 
all their lives to " the War," as they call it. It is 
not long since a tenant of my brother-in-law, when 
on his death-bed, said to him, " Ah, yer honour, isn't 
it too bad entirely that I'd be dying now, and the 
War that I always thought I'd live to see coming so 
near ? " The strength of the feeling was shown by 
the wild burst of enthusiasm in favour of the French 
at the beginning of the Franco-Prussian War, when 
processions marched through Dublin and other towns 
in Ireland, with tricolour banners, and led by bands 
playing the Marseillaise. This sympathy with the 



SYMPATHY WITH FRAATCE 319 

French was undoubtedly due to the tradition of the 
help that had been expected from France in 1798, and 
to the hope that, if necessary, help against England 
might again be obtained from the same quarter. 

But, strong as this anti-English feeling is, it is 
not in it, as I think, that the real strength of the 
agitation of the last fifteen years has lain. If it had 
been founded on this alone, or even mainly on this, 
it would never have obtained the support it has 
obtained from the people. It was the uniting of 
the Land Question with the agitation for Home Eule 
which really roused the peasantry. It is impossible 
for any one who has not resided in Ireland, and 
been on intimate terms with the people, to realize 
the intense longing which animates them for the 
possession of land, no matter how small or how bad 
the holding may be. If a farm was vacant owing 
to eviction of the tenant or otherwise, there were 
always numbers ready to compete for it, and willing 
to pay the landlord a fine for its possession, far 
beyond its value. They would often borrow the 
money to pay this fine at high interest, and, in most 
cases, left themselves without sufficient means to 
cultivate the land properly. To this land-hunger 
was also due, to a great extent, the subdivision of 
farms, which was so ruinous to the country ; for in 
former days the father of the family thought the 
best w^ay he could provide for his younger sons was 



320 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

to give each of them some portion of his land. I 
remember numbers of instances in our own imme- 
diate neighbourhood where farms, originally large, 
were divided among the sons of the tenants, and 
subsequently subdivided again and again, until some 
of the holdings became quite too small to support a 
family. In the neighbourhood of bogs these sub- 
divisions were more numerous than in other places, 
the reason being that fuel was more easily and 
cheaply obtained there ; in most cases, indeed, there 
were rights of turbary attached to the holdings. 

This anxiety for the possession of land is no doubt, 
as has often been pointed out, largely due to the 
fact that Ireland is so destitute of mineral wealth 
that there has been comparatively little industrial 
development, and that the land has been the only 
resource for the people, but I am sure that it is also 
an innate sentiment. Any one who once grasps the 
fact that this land-hunger does exist, and realizes at 
all what a passion it is, will easily see what an 
attraction there was for the peasantry in the hopes 
held out to them, that by joining this agitation they 
would ultimately get their land for little or nothing. 
These hopes were undoubtedly fostered b}^ the Land 
Act of 1881, Vv^hich though it may have been una- 
voidable, certainly struck a fatal blow at the obli- 
gation of contract between landlord and tenant. 

Hopes of this kind appeal with an especial force 



EXTRAVAGANT HOPES 321 

to an excitable and highly imaginative people like 
the Irish. It is scarcely possible to believe how 
extravagant are the hopes entertained by many of 
the peasantry of the benefits which they would 
derive from the establishment of an Irish Parliament. 
Not only do they expect that after a short time 
rent would be enormously reduced, or that they 
would become proprietors of their holdings at a 
very small price ; but many of them have the most 
fanciful ideas as to the immediate advantages that 
Avould arise. Many believe that there are numerous 
mines, and coal-fields, which the English Government 
has never allowed to be worked, and that these would 
greatly enrich the country ; while others suppose 
that wages would be at least trebled, and abundance 
of work afforded everywhere. In Dublin, too, there 
is a widespread idea that the city would be greatly 
benefited, as all the nobility and gentry would again 
reside there, as they did before the Union. In fact, 
it is no exaggeration to say that the peasantry at 
least expect that there would be " a plethora of 
wealth," and that "a pauper population would roll 
in riches." No reasonable man can doubt that all 
these hopes would be disappointed, except possibly 
that as to the land, which might indeed be realized, 
but only by a shameful and cruel injustice to the 
landlords ; and the inevitable disappointment would, 
it can hardlv be doubted, lead to a condition of 



322 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

discontent greater than any that has heretofore 
existed. I have always believed that it is the Land 
Question which is really at the root of the whole 
matter, and that it should be settled by some system 
of compulsory purchase to be determined upon and 
carried out by the Imperial Parliament, for it is 
difficult to imagine that such a question could be 
really fairly dealt with by a body of men elected 
almost entirely by the votes of one of the parties 
to the dispute. 

Whatever may be said of the effect of the Union 
and of subsequent legislation, there is no doubt 
that the general condition of the country and the 
peasantry has improved in ever}^ respect during my 
lifetime. I cannot speak of the earlier days im- 
mediately following the Union ; but I can clearly 
recollect what the country was over sixty years ago 
as compared with what it is now, and the improve- 
ment has been quite as great as the most sanguine 
could have expected. 

I have already spoken of the faction fights which 
were common when I was a boy, and which have 
since entirely died out, although in some few places 
the recollection of the former feuds still exists and 
is occasionally the cause of an isolated crime. A 
curious instance of this was mentioned in the Irish 
newspapers in Sept. 1893, an affray in which a 
man was killed during a football match at Cooga, 



IMPROVEMENT OE THE COUNTRY 323 

in the county of Limerick, being attributed to the 
old ill-feeling between the " three-year-old " and 
" four-year-old " factions. 

There have also, unfortunately, from time to time 
been serious outbreaks of crime, and there are some 
parts of the south where lawlessness still prevails to 
a lamentable extent ; but, taking Ireland as a whole, 
there is no doubt that the peasantry have a greater 
respect for the law than they had in my early days, 
and that the country is more peaceful and quiet. 
One feature which distinguished the outbreak of 
crime during the late land agitation from any that 
I remember, was that the outrages and intimidation 
were mainly directed, not against the landlords and 
agents as heretofore, but against any of the peas- 
antry who broke or evaded the unwritten law of 
the Land League. It was marked by a far greater 
amount of combination than ever existed before, 
and it was by this combination that the taking of 
farms, from which tenants had for any cause been 
evicted, was so effectually prevented. It is not that 
the desire to take such farms is less than it ever 
was, but that no man dare take one, as he does 
so at the risk of his life. 

Not long since, a tenant farmer, who punctually 
paid his rent, complained to me that two other 
tenants of the same landlord were allowed to hold 
their farms, although they were drunken, good-for- 



324 SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE 

nothing fellows, and had for years paid no rent 
at all. 

" Why should they be let stay there ? " he asked 
indignantly. 

"What possible advantage," I said, "could the 
landlord gain by evicting them? for neither you nor 
any of his other tenants would take the farms, nor 
w^oald you " (for I knew he was a local leader of the 
League) " allow any one else to do so.'' 

"Well," said he, with a sigh, "that's the law^ of 
the land." 

I knew that if he dared he would have been 
only too glad to add these farms to the one he 
already had, for he was a hardworking and pushing 
man. 

The drainage and cultivation of land have cer- 
tainly greatly improved during my lifetime ; and 
so have the dwellings of the peasantry. Large 
numbers of loans for drainage and other land im- 
provements have been made by the Treasury through 
the Board of Pablic Works, and it is satisfactory 
to know that these loans have, on the whole, been 
advantageously expended and are being honestly 
repaid. 

It is unfortunately true that considerable religious 
animosity still exists, which, though dormant, is 
ready to break out on any provocation ; but I can- 
not see how these feelings would be at all mitigated 



HOPES FOR THE FUTURE 325 

by the proposed change in the government of this 
country ; in fact, it appears to me that they would 
undoubtedly be intensified. 

Looking back on the last seventy years, and 
remembering the progress that Ireland has made, 
I see no reason to despair of the future of my coun- 
try. Although, during the first five and thirty years 
of my life, there was comparatively little change 
for the better in the condition of the people, since 
the year 1850 it has vastly improved. Wages have 
more than doubled; the people are better housed, 
better clad, and better fed. In recent years this 
improvement has been even more marked, and, if 
nothing untoward arises to retard its progress, if 
(is the hope too sanguine ?) Ireland can cease to be 
" the battlefield of English parties," it w^ill, I trust, 
ere many years, be as happy and contented as any 
part of our good Queen's dominions. 



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genial John Leech, for instance, are lit with sympathy which animates his style, and 
are not without the finer touches and shadings of verbal portraiture." — The Dial. 



MACMILLAN & CO., 

66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEV7 YORK. 



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